Ginger Snaps: The Feral Bond
by madman fred
Summary: An alternate to the Unleashed sequel with identical story concept taken in a different direction. Ghost, Alice and Tyler are not in this story. It has Jeremy's death, Brigitte committed and haunted by Ginger ? , but all other bets are off. Enjoy!
1. Prologue: Irreversible

_**Author's Notes (Updated 12/13/12): ******__THE STORY IS FINISHED. _

**Warning: This is a thoroughly violent bloody story. There's nudity, disturbing sexual situations, serious adult themes. The language is also as harsh as the original Ginger Snaps, probably more so. **

_This novel started as an alternate sequel to _Ginger Snaps: Unleashed_, keeping the general concept and taking it in a totally different direction. Tyler, Alice and Ghost are not in this story. Just think of this as the sequel they would have made if they only had a blockbuster budget. I call it a hybrid fan fiction, because I put them into a much larger story. I took writing this seriously because I want to become a author. My skills do get better in the later chapters.  
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_**I apologize that some chapters don't have scene separators. **This happened because on my copy, I separated the scenes with asterisks. As it turned out, this website's document manager wouldn't recognize them, and would simply omit them. Only the horizontal rule worked to separate scenes. It took a lot of chapters before I realized this. I'm trying to catch up, but I'm afraid they're still missing in many of the middle chapters.  
_

_Note: Beside Brigitte's journal entry, the prologue doesn't have any GS characters in it. It's written to stand on its own as a short story, and it shows what's happening with lycanthropy in the wider world. You could skip it if you want, but it is a good werewolf story on its own and becomes important by Chapter 5._

_The story comes out to about 205,000 words, or 650 pages typed._

_**And now, the story:**_

* * *

_ Every day when the shot is making me so sick I want to die, I remember you never had a chance of holding on. By the time we found monkshood, you were already "embracing change." Not me. I hate this Curse because of the way it twisted you. I will never give in to the disease that took you from me. _

_ -Brigitte Fitzgerald, Journal, pg. 44 _

_ Thomas-Caskeys Institute_

_ Archives_

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

PROLOGUE: IRREVERSIBLE

"_You_ never had a dead child left on _your_ doorstep," Lewis Butler said sarcastically, as he drove the truck on a road through the dark, wintery Canadian woods.

Michael, his only passenger, cleared his throat. "Before it became personal, I mean? I've always wondered why you never quit, especially when your marriage came apart?"

Lewis regretted his irritability. Michael was as meek as a man could be, a little too meek for this assignment. For Lewis, it had been another fruitless day. When he heard the question, Michael felt like some burdensome movie sidekick.

Lewis took a deep breath. "Sorry, after the first case, it was curiosity. Then, I don't know which case it was, they came so fast, but after that everything else in life seemed unimportant. Hiram offered to put me on salary, so I gave up my PI business and joined The Team full time. That was four years ago. I never regretted it. Until– "

"Now?" Michael gazed at Lewis, a man twenty years his junior. Lewis was in his mid-thirties, and his dark brown hair grayed much in the last year. Michael didn't have any gray yet, owing to a softer, academic life. "Has this been that bad, Lewis?"

Lewis gave his partner a sidelong glance with a red eye. "It's been nine months. By far the longest case ever. What do you think? Daphne's killed eleven children across Canada that we know about. I can't catch her, and I'm the only one who has a chance. I've had to ignore other cases. This is more than one man should handle. Hiram is too concerned with his scientific reputation to risk hiring another investigator. Will you please prevail on him? I can't do this alone anymore!" Lewis paused as he followed a turn to the right.

Michael shrugged. "I'll try. Hiram's a little old and inflexible."

"A little? Try talking to Thomas, then."

"He's just as old. Yes, they've been together for as long as I've been alive, but unless you know statistics, Thomas is even harder to talk to than Hiram."

Lewis shook his head. "I wonder what those two see in each other."

Outside, the winter night was clear. They could now see the full moon in the top passenger side of the windshield. It was a chinook winter in the boreal forest of mid-Saskatchewan Province. Under the full moon, trees upheld silver branches of pure, glittering snow like sculptures depicting a pagan rite. Lewis knew about the full moon's magic, but no longer saw beauty in it. To him it was a threat, another failure, another deadline missed. The road straightened

"They're standing in the way now," said Lewis. "The Team needs to get serious and formal about this. Hiram's been dragging his feet long enough and– "

Michael interrupted. "This cause is still a difficult sell right now. The scientific community isn't prepared to believe it."

"Hiram and Thomas had no problem lying to recruit me into it. The facts spoke for themselves, and I'm as skeptical as they come." He added, "Was."

"I think one thing stopping them is they're repentant about deceiving you." Michael wrung his hands. He didn't like the full moon either. He turned toward Lewis to keep it out of sight. "I'll talk to them. In the meantime, try to remember you're at the center of the most important discovery of the century." Michael sighed. "What's next, I wonder? Are we going to discover ghosts and vampires and find they're also connected to dark matter?"

"Let somebody else discover those. I have my hands full with werewolves now."

"Think about it. If werewolves were extinct for five hundred years, couldn't vampires also be coming back now?"

"I'd rather not think about that, can't you understand? This is your first tour of field work. Don't you feel like you'd rather not meet a werewolf? Don't you want to be somewhere safe, like back in Toronto, lecturing?"

"Of course, but being part of 'The Team' has its obligations. By the way, Hiram said we must be doing something right, because another child hasn't come up missing."

Lewis scoffed. "That either means we've thrown her off her game, or she's a thousand kilometers away from us, hunting in some other province, or state."

"Be optimistic. Maybe she'll leave something on our doorstep this time."

"Never bring that up," Lewis snapped. Michael flinched, and after a pause Lewis said, "Sorry."

"Understandable. That was tasteless of me. I apologize."

Lewis went quiet, concentrating on the narrow road, which had become more tricky with a turn going up a grade, then down followed by a rightward bend. When they came out of it, they saw a large, bloody carcass stretched out in the middle.

"Look out!" cried Michael.

Lewis braked. He spotted another body lying at least ten meters behind the first. The truck stopped with less than two yards to spare. The first dead body, a large dog, lay mangled and disemboweled before them. A lack of blood around it told Lewis the canine had been killed elsewhere and deposited here. At the same time, he realized the second one was a man, who lay unmoving on his side facing away from them. The body showed some blood but none of the massive trauma of the canine.

Lewis guffawed. "Speak of the she-devil!"

Michael turned to him wide-eyed as Lewis studied the surroundings. He took the truck out of gear. For the moment, the idling engine was the only thing to be heard. To the right, the woods sloped upward, to the left, downward. Though the snowy trees and ground refracted the moonlight, the forest floor offered plenty of shadowy cover.

"Shit!" said Michael, inhaling for the first time since they stopped, his mind frozen on the immediate scene.

Lewis burst from his usual analytical mood by slamming his fist on the steering wheel and laughing. "At last! She wants a fight; we'll give her one." He unbuckled his seat belt and put the truck back into drive.

"We– ?" The outburst, so unlike Lewis, made Michael cringe. "What are you– ?" cried Michael, as Lewis slowly drove the truck over the carcass, crushing it with sickening cracks and squashing. "Lewis– ?"

"It's dead anyway. The less distance we walk to examine this poor man, the safer we'll be."

The pity Lewis felt for the man was slight compared to the thrill in being challenged at last. For four months he had hoped for another opportunity to stop her. His only chance was to play on her vindictiveness, a consistent quality of werewolves. It finally paid off.

"What the hell do we do now?" Michael said, terrified, his appearing pale in the light. He cowered in his seat, so now he didn't even come up to Lewis' shoulder.

"An adult male," said Lewis, triumphantly. "Not at all her preference. Oh, we got under her skin all right." Michael had never heard him being vainglorious.

Lewis drew up ten feet from the body and stopped, taking the truck out of gear again. He didn't shut off the engine. Instead, he turned on some vintage hard rock music, Hocus Pocus, and turned it up loud.

Michael covered his ears, his face bewildered. He shouted, "Lewis, what– ?"

"Drowns our voices, otherwise she can understand everything we say."

He had a point, so Michael had to nod. "All right. Why the slaughtered dog?"

"A stop sign. She didn't want us to run over him," Lewis, gestured toward the man. He took his holster out from under the seat.

"Why would she care?" Michael shouted. He had to move his head toward Lewis to understand him. Lewis had kept his tone normal. He bent toward Michael.

"Because maybe he's not actually dead, and running over him would ruin her plan." Lewis relaxed his tone, affecting an aloofness he didn't feel. He threaded the holster belt around his waist.

"Is it a trap?" Michael yelled.

"Yes." Lewis sounded pleased.

"Are we just going to fall into it?" Michael almost panted the words.

"We don't have a choice. _He_ might still be alive," said Lewis, gesturing toward the victim lying in the road, "and anyway we can't just run over him to get to our cabin. We must get out."

"Lewis, stop! Don't. She wouldn't be doing this without an advantage."

"Not really true. It's a full moon, her party night. Maybe she's drunk off moonbeams and wants a fight. Get a hold of yourself." Lewis leaned forward, "And don't shout. It defeats the purpose of the music."

"Please, let's report this to Hiram first."

Lewis opened the center compartment and pulled out his Walther P99. The sixteen round clip extended beneath the handle. He took the safety off, pulled the slide back. He tapped his coat pocket, where he carried his Ruger .357 Magnum. "There's no cellphone coverage here, remember? And Hiram didn't spring for sat phones." He put the Walther in his holster.

"All right," said Michael, regaining control. Lewis reached behind the seat and grabbed a double-barreled shotgun, handing it to him.

"She probably won't come near you when you're carrying this, but it _is_ a full moon. Remember she'll try to run you out of ammunition before she attacks, so don't shoot blind. Once you fire, don't reload, just drop it and draw your Glock. Defend only yourself. Don't try to cover me. I can look out for myself."

Michael composed himself, sat up taller, took deep breaths, met Lewis' gaze and said, "All right, I'm ready."

Lewis drew his Walther again. He made a nod toward the shotgun. "Take the safety off." Embarrassed, Michael did. "Have it ready to fire at close range only. Remember, I didn't exaggerate my reports; she's fast. Okay, we get out together. Get ready . . . " Lewis shut the engine down, the stereo died with it ". . . Now!"

Their boots hit the ground simultaneously, Michael's on pavement, Lewis' on snow. No sooner had their doors closed, Lewis heard a snarling from the other side. By its low pitch, he could tell it wasn't Daphne.

No, _he_ could see Daphne. The familiar blue eyes with gold pupils glared out from between two trees, crouched underneath the squat, snowy canopy. Her nictitating membranes could hide them, so she obviously wanted to be seen. Lewis felt the stare in his gut. He aimed and fired twice, but she already rolled away behind a tree trunk and bolted. Her size shocked him. After nine full moons, growing at every one, she was now the size of a lion.

Michael shouted from the other side, "Lew– Uh!" his cry interrupted by a thump and a snarl.

Confronted with Daphne, Lewis could only afford a glance in Michael's direction. The hateful blue eyes reappeared closer, and Lewis had to forget about Michael to fight for his own life.

Lewis fired twice again, but she already disappeared while something hard and heavy struck him in the heels. He jumped, landed on it, and almost lost his footing. The shotgun lay beneath his feet; Michael apparently had slung it across the underside of the truck for him.

As Lewis struggled to balance himself, Michael shouted, "Lewis, HELP . . . !" Then vicious growling cut him off. Lewis heard a swishing of Michael being dragged into the woods across the road behind Lewis.

He realized Michael was right. She had an unexpected advantage.

_ There are_ _two of them!_

Another abortive glance through the windows told Lewis nothing else. Daphne snarled, once again forcing his attention away. He did not see her either. Then, in corner of his eye, he saw her break cover down the road left. He fired once, too late. She dodged behind the truck. He dropped, looked underneath, but couldn't spot her. Checking to both sides, behind and above for an ambush, he stood and moved toward the rear and but saw nothing.

From the woods, Michael's screams escalated. The noise confirmed two werewolves snarled raucously over his partner. Lewis holstered his pistol and picked up the shotgun. He cracked the breech; both barrels were loaded with lead shot, not silver, the legends being erroneous. The precious metal had its use against lycanthropy, but not as a weapon. He walked in front of the truck and touched the man's throat. No pulse, cold, not mutilated and little blood. A clean kill, unlike what they were doing to Michael.

_The perfect bait for the perfect trap, twice. What a clever hell-beast she is. _

He cocked the hammers back and crossed the road. Once in the woods, he raised the shotgun to his shoulders. The refracted full moon lit the forest to a soft blur. Cover was sparse. The shin-deep snow squeaked under his boots. Ambushing them was impossible anyway.

When he could see them clearly, they stopped their torment. Daphne grasped Michael by his bloody coat and sat him up. They got behind him as a partial shield, she to his right, her partner to his left.

They glared at Lewis with pupils shining gold. Her fur was a beautiful silver-gray in brown. Otherwise, she was a stupefying chimera of human, wolf, and what-the-fuck. Her head lacked any human characteristics: lupine, but like some extinct species; a primal nightmare concocted from humankind's ancient, collective memories. The jaws were broader and more powerful than any natural wolf. Her bloody teeth glistened like the snow, her incisors two inches long. The eyes were large and unmistakably intelligent.

Beneath the head, her anatomy was baffling. The incredibly muscular arms looked human but ended in a pair of huge paws: each armed with five sharp nails: retractable, sickle-shaped, each the length of a finger. Lewis witnessed a single blow rip away a person's face wholesale, and that beast was much smaller than Daphne.

Most disturbing by far to Lewis, she still had a woman's breasts— conspicuous even through her fur— her nipples a sickening distraction as she sat on her haunches.

She embraced Michael around the shoulder like an old friend, except with her claws against his throat. Her cohort ducked lower behind Michael, having more deference for Lewis' gun. The wider face identified it as male, with gray and beige fur. Next to her, he looked tiny. The thickness of his coat proved this couldn't be his first full moon, but it also couldn't be more than his third.

Scratches and gouges marred Michael's features, and his chest and legs were blood-soaked. Lewis wondered how to rescue him, but no good plan came to mind, yet. Michael wouldn't heal either. The disease was outside its infectious phase, which was synced worldwide by a dark matter storm, and predictable.

He felt the weight of guilt, but no matter what happened to Michael or himself, Lewis resolved that he absolutely could not let Daphne get away again. She'd killed at least six children since she last escaped him four months ago. He had never encountered another as shrewd, hateful and audacious as her.

He had a great shot ordinarily, but these were no ordinary creatures. If he didn't drop outright, she would bolt and heal. Then she may run hundreds of kilometers away. By morning, she'd be terrorizing another unwary community. Nothing but point-blank range would do. His only tenuous hold on her was the special hatred she held toward him, intensified by the full moon. He planned to goad them into an attack, and take her out with the shotgun at close range.

He crept forward; they didn't move. Did they want to parley? As far as he knew, werewolves never tried to communicate with an uninfected human. He knew better than to expect good faith.

_We're nothing but food and fun to them, except when we rise to the level of nuisance, as I have._

"Sooo," he yelled. "Does the mutt have her own bitch now? What shelter did you rescue your little leg-humper from?"

Michael looked at him uncomprehending. If shock wasn't clouding his mind, their scents were. "Lewis . . ." he moaned, "Don't shoot."

"Don't worry, Michael. I'll get you out of this." Lewis didn't believe that at all.

"Daphne, are you too much of a chicken shit to come after me?"

Both growled in response. She bared her fangs.

"Oh, I apologize, you're not a chicken shit." He yelled louder, "You're a little poodle!"

She bellowed. If there was one thing they hated more than humans, it was domestic dogs. Perhaps they saw them as collaborators. The male snapped Michael's arm, then lifted and waved it, still attached, shaped like a lightning bolt. Their hostage screamed pitifully. She roared and swiped her paw through the air backhanded at Lewis, turned to her partner and uttered a perplexing growl of consonants and guttural stops. The male let Michael's arm drop. Michael still screamed, so she put her paw over his mouth.

Lewis recalled his amazement when The Team discovered werewolves actually spoke an unrecognizable version of English.

She snarled the same sounds at Lewis, who now knew it meant "stop." He halted, but kept the shotgun up and trained at her head.

She opened her mouth as though doing it for a dentist, and rasped out a deliberate combination of a cat's hiss and a nasal snarl, almost managing human vowel sounds, ending with a broken buzz.

For once, Lewis understood her. "Yes, my name's Lewis," he called. "Do you mind if I call you Daphne? I always have."

She growled back. It could have meant anything.

_Does this monster even think of herself as Daphne Coronette anymore?_ The gentle, young mother-schoolteacher from which it sprang was its uncanny antipode. Maybe Daphne was its first prey, only consumed from the inside out. Lewis preferred to believe that.

"And yes, I know you can speak: mutt."

She snarled rapid train-wreck totally lost on Lewis. "Good to see you're sitting comfortably again, princess. That slug in your rump didn't bother you too much, I hope. You know– you yipped like a little Chihuahua when I shot you there?"

Her tail whipped, not a friendly gesture for her kind, and Lewis thought she would charge him. Instead, she turned to Michael and stuck a claw-nail behind his jaw. He cried out.

Lewis gave. "All right, all right, I'll be civil. You made your point."

She removed it.

"So, what do you want?"

She growled repeatedly until Lewis interrupted, "Yes, I know you're speaking, princess, but I can't understand any of it."

She bellowed in frustration, scraping her right claw into the snow. The gesture amazed Lewis, whose perception of her shifted from wolf to ape and back.

Her outburst passed. She pointed at the gun with one extended claw nail, then held her paw up in a grasping gesture and dropped it to the ground. She then turned to Michael and scratched him underneath his chin, gently this time. The meaning was obvious: drop the shotgun and he would live.

Even if she kept her promise— an impossibility— Michael had no chance without him, and Lewis couldn't hold off two werewolves with a pistol, or pair of them. The shotgun at close range was guaranteed to kill, the only reason why they weren't circling him now.

"No," Lewis answered. She snarled back and scraped her claw across Michael's ear, drawing blood. He groaned, muffled under her paw. Lewis stood unfazed. "If you want me, I'm here. As is. If you want to play like a good Labrador, I have a ball in my pocket you can chase."

Enraged, she roared and chomped Michael's ear off. He shrieked, blood spurting down his neck and shoulder. Chewing, she turned back to Lewis. Her partner cuffed Michael's shoulder and bellowed into his remaining ear. It took everything Lewis had to keep from firing as they dragged their hostage away with supernatural speed.

Disgusted, outraged, Lewis walked up to the blood spot on the snow and stared. Werewolves reveled in the smell of fear and pain. If they weren't hungry they'd drag him through every pit of hell before he died. He heard Michael screaming weaker now. Lewis' gut muscles squeezed like a python. When he had control of his fury, he followed the clamor.

When he got too close, they dragged Michael deeper into the woods. They did it a second time, teasing Lewis. They were wearing him out. He grew tired and numb. The shotgun grew heavier. They had unlimited energy, were impervious to cold, and could sense his fatigue by smell. After they teased him a third time, his composure cracked. He shouted dog insults again. No strategy this time, only sheer frustration.

As he drew toward the fray for the fourth time, the growls died out. Michael lay in a clearing, on display, propped on his back against a rock. His blood lit up bright red in the silvery light. The werewolves were gone.

_The perfect bait, again?_

He heard nothing now except for his own trudging and Michael's gasps. The trees in this section of forest were mostly bare, vertical sticks, with no cover for something Daphne's size.

They ran out of patience. Lewis knew better than to think they had run off. They left Michael because he was dying, and would shortly be no good as a hostage. Now they required a distraction.

On the right side, Lewis spotted the footprints diverging in opposite directions, the larger set going up the gradual slope, forward to the right. His mind grasped at an opportunity he could hardly believe.

_Daphne, you just made a tactical error._

Without breaking stride, he formulated a plan in seconds. His only possible cover was a single maple tree with barely enough girth to protect his flank about three meters from Michael, also to the right.

Lacking cover, they had to be watching him from a distance. He couldn't see them because their night vision was superior, which meant they'd be relying on their speed as well.

He walked up to Michael, but could ill-afford to give him comfort. As a ruse, he said, "Michael, oh-my-God! Look what they've done to you!" He checked the maple tree behind him while digging his heels into the snow for traction.

He crouched. As Michael rasped something unintelligible. Lewis ignored him and listened for distant noises. He lowered the shotgun onto his boots and thought he heard a distant scraping of claws on tree bark. A signal.

"Save your strength, friend," he said, adding louder, "I'm gonna get you back to the truck,"

Michael's hand was mangled, so Lewis touched his wrist but still held the gun's stock. To even look his partner in the eye, would have made Lewis waver.

A crunch of snow from uphill then another from somewhere else. Unable to think of another line, he said, "Maybe you were right . . . um."

_Too early and they'll abort. Too late and . . . _

Michael responded with a death rattle. Lewis grasped the shotgun in both hands.

"I'm so sorry," he said, not acting this time. He heard feet rushing through snow, closer.

_Timing . . . timing . . ._

"I was in over my head and– "

He scrambled backward until he hit the maple tree. His legs slipped. He fell like a goalie in the butterfly position. Pain wrenched through his thighs and hips.

He heard skidding and swishing as the werewolves tried to change directions. Their weight and speed turned against them. She roared, probably an abort order. He turned the shotgun toward her. The male got there first on the opposite flank. Lewis twisted back far left. He fired barrels into its face. The werewolf's head disintegrated. It smashed convulsing into side of the tree with a wet, bony crunch.

The gun kicked. Lewis guided it into a back swing. The barrel hit Daphne square in the chops. Broken teeth flew. She wiped out, spun a one-eighty in front of him. Her huge paws kicked up a blizzard. He reached for his Walther. She swiped blind and backhanded at his throat. Her claw ripped into his coat collar, missed his flesh. She twisted her wrist to her forehand and threw him. The claw cut free prematurely, saving him from a broken neck.

Lewis landed on his face meters away. He swept the snow from his eyes. She ended her slide short, but lost her footing. From her back, she whipped her body like a fish on a deck. A loud snap, brought her to her feet crouched. In a blink, she would have pounced.

But Lewis had already drawn and aimed. Multiple bullets penetrated her hide. A fifth of a second: one shot, two, three savaged her chest and neck. She recoiled, rearing up, presenting her belly. Another fifth of a second: shots four, five, six all scored.

Desperately, she jumped straight up fifteen feet. Her body twisted like a lion-sized gymnast, blood drops flying off. She landed in a defensive roll.

But Lewis got up on his knees. Five more slugs ripped into her.

She writhed, bleeding. He released the empty clip. To his astonishment, she rose and ran. He fumbled to reload.

_No! You're not getting away this time!_

_ S_he collapsed again, going still. He could see her dark form lying about fifty feet away among the trees, like an inkblot on the shadow-etched whiteness.

A glance told him the male was dead. He put his reloaded Walther away, drew his Magnum to finish. He approached, hearing labored breathing. Her trail of blood defiled the brilliant snow with solid red, which steamed like acid. The moon hung above her, impaled on the silhouettes of spiky trees.

Lewis anticipated her healing powers being super-phenomenal, even with eleven shots in her. He had never fought one this old before.

_ Two in the head, two in heart and one in the spine, and she'll_ _never get up._

He felt empty. Nothing changed the fact that Daphne had him beat months ago. Closing a case usually meant some victory: a victim helped or even cured. This one had been nothing but defeats, where his every error turned into somebody else's tragedy. Michael took the consequences tonight. Lewis couldn't make himself do this anymore. It was time to resign.

He put the gun to her head, but forgot about her scent, a neurochemical cocktail. Its strength caught him by surprise, warming his spine, making his head tingle. Before he could cough and hold his breath, he was already under its sway and no longer wanted to kill her. Ears ringing, he recoiled, trying to regain his senses. Sudden images popped into his mind: his ex-wife Valery, then of every woman he had ever been attracted to. It ended with Daphne's image, with her large, sensitive, brown eyes.

The disorientation passed, but he felt light-headed and aroused. The Team found werewolves' scent to be an augmented version of human pheromones, but Lewis never encountered one this powerful. Until now, he had to be in a cloud of it to notice, and even then, it would confuse him momentarily. He thought he recovered but when he tried to take aim, something in him snapped.

_There's still hope for her!_

Could Daphne, the person, still be rescued? He routinely cured early-stage werewolves but never tried it post-transformation.

Why had he always presumed a person was irretrievable after the shape shift? Had The Team ever questioned this? Without logical connection, Lewis' intoxicated mind jumped from these thoughts to believing Hiram ordered him to test it on her.

He pulled out an opaque plastic tube. Press the business end against her, and a needle would pop out to inject the cure. The auto-syringe contained silver ions. Silver itself did nothing. The _tarnish_ on the silver was what affected them. He considered her size and pulled out a second syringe. His fingers numb, he struggled to remove the safety covers. As he drew close, he smelled her again‒ her aroma a mixture of leather, musk, almond and honey‒ but he thought himself immune. Wounds might interfere with the process, so he would risk waiting for her to heal.

Daphne's body radiated heat, which turned the surrounding snow into bloody slush. He needed to stay warm and alert, so he straddled her, holding the injectors in his right hand, the gun in his left.

With fascination he watched her healing. Five minutes, and a bullet pushed out of her neck, falling into the slush. Then two out of her chest. She shed broken teeth, which were replaced by new, immaculate ones. He lost track of time. His hands regained sensation. The winter panorama around him turned tropical; the snow turned to sand. His attention didn't wane, but doubts nagged him.

_ It's her scent. Kill her before it's too late. _

Finally, her paws and eyelids moved. He hit her in the throat with the needles, which made a sharp double-pop. Daphne's eyes burst open; she roared, furious.

His gun discharged into the ground as she knocked it from his hand. She bucked and backhanded him. Landing prone in the snow, Lewis turned himself over, Walther drawn. Daphne slapped it away. She pinned him with a paw the size of a dinner plate.

He couldn't breathe. His ribs felt ready to crack. She growled. Her claws extended slowly and began to pierce his skin. He gaped; his body attempted to scream with empty lungs.

Then, they withdrew. He could draw breath again. The werewolf hissed. He sensed her rage slackening. She gasped. Her blue eyes drained to gray. The gold reflected in her pupils faded; they shrank to pinpricks. She removed her paw, and he shinnied out. She swayed and staggered. One of the injectors dangled from her throat.

Lewis stood and witnessed what people in the past saw when they stabbed a werewolf with a tarnished blade, but this time at a much higher dose. Her jaws drew wide open and locked. The creature groaned, shuddered. Teeth fell out like beads from a broken necklace. He stood, while she toppled on her side in a seizure. The beast howled and yelped pitifully.

Lewis watched, nauseated as her fur fell off in patches. Daphne's flesh writhed as though worms slithered within. Irises dissolved in her eyes_,_ which turned translucent amber; multicolored particles swam frantically inside. Her remaining teeth fell out; her tongue thickened. Bones and joints cracked and popped all over her, accompanied by noise of soft tissue compressing. The face shrank, and her mid-section began to bloat. The bone-snapping noises grew louder. Her spine contracted like an earthworm in mid-slither, while her neck hyper-extended back. It looked terminal.

Meanwhile, she snarled and screamed in voices both beast and human. The sounds almost made him fall to his knees in prayer.

At this stage, the creature resembled neither human nor werewolf. It developed into an amorphous sac. Innumerable cuts formed all over it, squirting blood. These joined together into gashes, which bled like geysers.

Lewis saw enough. He picked up his magnum, approached and took aim, but he couldn't steady his hand.

The vesicle exploded. Stinking, chunky ooze, bloody yellow and green, blasted out, splattering all over him. He dropped his gun, staggered back.

Lewis cleared his eyes. The hide, now deflated, was peeling away. Blood and slime covered whatever lay still underneath. The last layer fell off, dissolved.

He couldn't tell what lay there, until a profuse discharge cleaned her off. Someone took a loud breath and moaned: a human being, a woman, a miracle. She lifted her head to reveal large, bewildered brown eyes. Lewis recognized her as twenty-four year-old Daphne Coronette, her dark brunette hair was short and uneven, unlike the long straight hair she wore in the pictures. He was speechless.

She peered around, dazed. Her shoulder and back popped; she screamed. Lewis flinched, forewarned the changes might not be over.

The noises subsided, and she pushed herself up to kneel, oblivious to being naked in freezing cold and slush. She appeared completely human, but was terribly thin‒ at least twenty pounds lighter than in her pictures‒ and she was slight then.

A triumphant thrill went through Lewis. "Daphne! Daphne Coronette?" He tried to catch his breath. She didn't respond, didn't even look at him.

Instead, she vomited an orange-red fluid. Lewis almost gagged: he could see a human ear and a thumb in the vomit. Throughout her body, joints clicked and popped as she retched. She recovered. He repeated her name more firmly. Her eyes focused on him, when a series of loud cracks and snaps came from her left hand. To Lewis' horror, it began to change shape and grow claws. She screamed, her eyes awakened with pain and self-loathing. She bit her hand, lurched her head around like a dog in a fight, until a piece of bloody flesh ripped loose. It dropped from her mouth, and she tore in again.

"No! Stop! Daphne . . ." Still cautious, he didn't approach her. "Don't!" Lewis cried, "Please, it won't help!"

She didn't heed him, but continued to mangle her hand even after the change stopped. He tried a different tact. "It was all a nightmare, but it's over. Listen to me. I'll help you wake up!"

She stopped and glared at him, put her bleeding hand under her arm. With the other she rapidly wiped and scratched at herself. She spit words at him through her teeth. "Liar! No, it wasn't a dream! " She doubled over, weeping, "Allan . . . Allan . . . !"

Dread swept through Lewis. He knew who that was and didn't know how to console her now that she remembered.

A convulsive shiver went through her. She straightened. Her skin broke out in goose bumps. Her resistance to cold collapsed. Lewis took off his coat. "I'll get you somewhere warm," he coaxed, approaching her.

But then she spotted his magnum in the snow and grabbed it. He gasped and bolted toward her. "Daphne, n‒!"

Leaning forward, she fired, the gun under her chin. Blood and brains splattered in his eyes. He froze, couldn't breathe. His knees folded, and he vomited for a long time, then dry-heaved. He forced himself look. No rescue. Daphne, the woman, was dead.

Steam rose from the slurry where she lay. He shivered and choked until the retching turned to sobs. The anguish in her eyes wouldn't stop.

He should have known. _Rescues_ all remembered what they did. Werewolves absconded in their final weeks as humans, wandering away alone to hide and hunt. Lewis would find them in abandoned buildings, in caves or in forests. Naked, feral, half-transformed, with cruel eyes, _intermediates_ would await the full moon destined push them over, their ties to the human species already severed.

Not Daphne. She had one bond she tried to keep: to her four-year-old son Allan. She took him into seclusion with her. She couldn't know how radically her personality would change in only a few days. Forensic evidence confirmed the outcome but spared Lewis the most horrific details. He could only grieve over the paradox: how Daphne's maternal devotion spread her tragedy to so many others.

Because Daphne, the child-killer, was born sometime that week before the full moon; when‒ days after disappearing with him‒ sweet, gentle Daphne tore her own child to pieces.


	2. The Trap Shuts

_CHAPTER 1: THE TRAP SHUTS_

_ I __can't__ believe I've been fighting this for two years. The disease is building up a tolerance to monkshood. __I've raised the dose.__These days the shot makes me sick half the day and hungry the other half. __I'm so thin,__ I look just like a little junkie chick now, perfect cover- sheep's clothing. Ha. Ha._

_ It's begun to invade my mind. Another full moon, and I killed another __dog__. Not good, but at least that shut __up__ the rest of __the neighborhood mutts__. I ran back to my room __to__ strip off my bloody clothes, throwing them in the bathtub, and Ginger's suddenly there again, looking all stunned and shocked. Same hallucination __only__ this time, it spoke to me. "Bee__, w__hat have you done?__ W__here are we?" w__hich means, of course, I'm cracking up. My sister, Ginger, is long dead._

_I hallucinate her for hours at a time now__ but ignore her. __ She gets pissed off, cries, and throws tantrums. Just like __my sister Ginger__, when she was eight. _

_-Brigitte Fitzgerald, Journal, page 158_

_ -Caskeys Institute Archives_

* * *

_Ginger_

The spirit didn't remember dying. This didn't resemble any afterlife Ginger ever imagined. A lost fifteen-year old, she presumed this episode was the latest of about two hundred consecutive nightmares. In between them, she suffered a freezing oblivion in which her only awareness was being cold.

Was she in a coma? If so, she hoped she'd wake up. Her home, her parents, her schoolwere all gone. Her sister Brigitte was all she had left, her only connection to anything familiar.

And Brigitte was dying: the worst nightmare yet.

The red-headed ghost sat on the snow in the dark, bare legs bent in front of her chest. She didn't shiver but rocked and stared at the mound in front of her. Brigitte was underneath, frozen and poisoned; Ginger couldn't move a grain of snow. Nobody but Brigitte could see her, and Ginger couldn't even leave her sister's presence without losing consciousness. All she could do was listen to Brigitte's slow, faltering heartbeat, which she couldn't avoid hearing. She had a blind terror of what would happen to her without her sister.

The heartbeat grew faint. The phantom reached her spectral hand through the drift and touched Brigitte. The contact sent a burning throughout Ginger's ghostly body, followed by extreme cold. The ghost's vision went brown. After a wave of nausea, she recovered, escaping icy unconsciousness this time. As a reward, Brigitte's heartbeat strengthened and steadied. Ginger's nudge bought her sister some time, but it increased the spirit's feeling of torpor, informing the ghost she herself was on the edge freezing blackness. She couldn't make herself lay a finger on Brigitte again.

A rattling growl brought her to her feet. She stepped out from between the dumpsters and glanced down the alley. A werewolf the size of a bear was coming. It held a dead animal in its jaws. Ginger ducked. Maybe he couldn't see her? Maybe he wouldn't find Brigitte?

No luck. He came around the dumpster to face them. She knew from over-the-shoulder reading of Brigitte's journal who this was: Ginger's own doing as a werewolf. "Jason McCarty," she hissed, her voice inhuman. She dropped to all fours and splayed herself over the snow mound. Her eyes turned hollow black like empty sockets. Her voice rattled, "Stay away!"

The werewolf either ignored her or couldn't see her. It dropped and shredded its prey. The spirit held still like a spider defending its eggs. The beast lifted its head and approached. Ginger discovered, to her horror, she couldn't stop him.

* * *

Larry and Rose Murray arrived at their grocery store at 4 a.m. as usual. She went to the office, he went to the back. He sighed, exasperated to find the help hadn't taken out the trash the night before.

Larry broke the boxes down and took them out the back door.

He walked into the alley. The snow in the middle was cleared, but deep piles and drifts had accumulated along the edges and between the receptacles.

He halted with a jump. A large dog carcass, or most of it, lay in front of the dumpster across. The rest of the remains were scattered. "No, Jeezus!"

_ What a bad start to the day!_

He dropped the boxes, took out his flashlight and walked over to examine the body, when something else caught his attention. One snow pile had been partially dug out. He spotted a new-looking canvass bag, like a satchel, half-buried. He grabbed it, but it was caught. He yanked until the bag came loose.

The contents spilled out: a score of mini-ampules filled with purple liquid; clothes, including women's underwear; toiletries; gauze; a kit, which broke open to reveal two surgeon's scalpels; three hypodermic needles; and a half-clenched, frostbitten hand—

Larry gasped. _Wait__— _On second glance, the hand didn't drop but lay frozen in the middle of the items. His gaze followed the bare arm up to a shoulder, to dark-brown hair, and to a girl's blue face. Her lips were pulled back in a harrowing smile. Her teeth gleamed white against the her icy blue features.

He yelped and recoiled as his wife opened the door and called, making him clutch his chest.

"Rose!" he yelled. "Quick! Call the police! There's a dead girl out here!"

* * *

_Ginger_

He was wrong, barely. Brigitte wasn't dead. Rewarming her had taken the whole morning, but she wouldn't stabilize. The team at the trauma unit rushed around her, unaware of the red-haired ghost carefully staying out of traffic.

Brigitte lay unconscious with an oxygen mask on. She inhaled with choking gulps. The machine above her showed erratic vital signs; its alarms kept going off.

Ginger stood against the wall and peered at the scene. She didn't know medical terms, but she knew "sinus arrhythmia" and "bradycardia" were bad. She couldn't communicate, couldn't tell anyone what poison Brigitte had taken.

A tech came in, mask down. "Toxicology says her blood sample was spoiled again."

"What?" yelled the doctor. "That's the third time!"

The tech shrugged. "Yes, but they did identify the stuff in her luggage." He showed the doctor the results.

"Aconitine? She's been shooting poison?"

"Of the monkshood family. Quite a tolerance, too. Each ampule would kill five adults."

"Wait," the doctor said, "The symptoms do fit aconitine poisoning." He turned to the nurse. "Prepare atropine. Five milligram. Intracardiac."

In a few minutes, Ginger winced as the biggest needle she ever saw was inserted deep into her sister's chest. Ginger moaned as the nurse compressed the plunger.

As the woman drew the syringe out, the alarms stopped and the graphic displays became regular again. The spirit sighed; a similar relief went through the postures of the trauma staff. It had been a long six hours.

The ghost walked up to the foot of Brigitte's bed. "Oh, Bee!"

The doctor turned to the nurse and said, "There. We'll– "

A snarl and Brigitte's eyes burst open. She grabbed the nurse and snapped at her. The woman's ear was saved by the oxygen mask muzzling the patient. Brigitte continued to bite at the screaming woman as the staff intervened. For someone at death's door, Brigitte struggled against four people with uncanny strength. The alarms rang out, her lines to the machines severed.

"Restraints! Get her in restraints!" cried the tech.

The phantom stood with her hand over her mouth. A staffer ran through her. First, it was blindness and burning all over, followed by a sensation of being submerged in ice water. Ginger lost her grip and blacked out.

* * *

_Ginger_

The spirit came to standing in Brigitte's hospital room for the third time since the rescue. Another nightmare, but not as urgent. At least Brigitte was no longer in danger. Now she was merely unconscious; the monitors, calm. She was wet with sweat and had a bandage on her left cheek. Ginger had no way to keep track of time, but her sister looked much better; days must have passed since her rescue.

Ginger came short of touching her sister's face, afraid of being knocked-out cold again.

Brigitte's eyes fluttered open. She looked insane.

"B? I knew it! You can see me!"

Brigitte gasped with fear. "Ginger, please, it's me!"

Ginger was thrown by the incongruity, until she realized her sister was delirious.

Brigitte's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "I'm not dying in this room with you!" The beeps from the monitors accelerated.

"No, B, you're gonna live."

Oblivious, the deranged girl fought her restraints and shouted, "I'm not dying!" The beeps sped up more. Brigitte moaned. Already spent, her eyes went out of focus and closed. She swooned, and her vitals slowed.

Ginger leaned over her. "Oh, B, what happened to us?" She did not know, could not remember her last hour. The ghost then went as still as a sculpture, not even breathing or blinking, her eyes fixated on Brigitte.

She held her pose for several minutes, until three men entered the room. One was tall, blond and had a strong jaw. Another was short, dark skinned, had a wide mustache and an impeccable blue suit. The third wore hospital scrubs with a mask. He spoke first. "This is her."

"She has had no relatives, no friends to claim her?" said the blond man in a Scandinavian accent. "No one to visit?"

"No," said the man in the suit, sympathetically. He had an Indian accent. "Very unusual. Quite sad."

Ginger shouted into his ear. "I've been here, idiot!"

"Show me," said the blond man.

The suit-man pulled Brigitte's hair back from her ear and pointed. "You saw the pictures. No frostbite. No scarring either. Regenerated."

The apparition did not like the tone of this conversation. It sounded like business rather than medicine. He peeled back to bandage from Brigitte's face. The blotch of frostbite, which had been the size of her palm, had dwindled to quarter size.

Ginger felt a renewed distress: Brigitte was closer to changing.

"Impressive!" said the blond man. Ginger thought of him as Bjorn.

"But here's an anomaly," Suit man pulled back Brigitte's sleeve. Cut and needle marks marred Brigitte's arm. "These have not disappeared, as you can see."

"Look at her hands," said Bjorn.

"Yes, the frostbite is gone from there, too."

"No, I mean the shape of her nails." They were sickle-shaped.

_Oh B, you're close. _Ginger had no idea when the next full moon was due, but Brigitte's fingers told her it couldn't be more than a week away.

"That is enough," said the blond man. "I want a room prepared for her. We will handle the transfer."

* * *

_Brigitte_

As seventeen-year old Brigitte awoke many powerful smells assaulted her, immersing her in a new world. The odor of antiseptic and the feel of stiff linen told her she lay in a hospital bed. The last thing she remembered was falling in the snow. Previous events filled themselves in.

_Monkshood overdose. I healed in just four hours, panicked, and took a second dose. Bad move, but I was out of good ones. __Jeremy was taking me to the hospital; my werewolf stalker attacked him, tore his throat. I ran away and . . . fell in the snow. _

She squinted. A nurse in her mid-30s with brown hair, gazed down at her, too close. Brigitte would have shoved her away, except the woman's smile and warm eyes reminded her of Mom's. After being alone for two years, Brigitte did miss home.

"Awake at last!" said the nurse. "Hello and welcome back to the sunny world sleepy head!"

Sunny was right. Daylight shone in the window. Dazzled, Brigitte sat up, annoyed to find she had an IV patched into her right hand. Worse, she also had a catheter.

The hospital room surprised her; it was ancient-looking. The walls looked overbuilt; the paint was pale yellow and glossy. The nurse's voice echoed. The window frame looked like wrought iron.

Brigitte's heightened sense of smell also gave her a quick history lesson: the building stank like the Reaper's den. Nothing recent, but traces of death were layered between decades of lacquer, wax, paint, spackling and antiseptic; like fossils imbedded between strata of rock. Even more woeful than it looked, this place was like a crypt.

Urine reeked from the bathroom across from Brigitte. She could tell it was a male's piss, and the nurse wouldn't have an easygoing smile if she could smell it.

"You were found with no ID. My name is Cassie. What's yours?"

"Brigitte."

"And your last name?"

"Kilpatrick." Brigitte lied. It was Fitzgerald.

"Very glad to meet you." Cassie offered a hand.

Instead of taking it, Brigitte gestured at the IV and catheter. "Get these fucking things out if me."

Cassie backed a few steps, startled at the Brigitte's language and tone. "I have to make sure you can walk to the bathroom— "

Brigitte got out of bed.

"You shouldn't— "

The patient came almost face-to-face with Cassie. "I can walk, no problem. See?" She got up on her tip toes, then down, and repeated. "So, no thanks, I'll pee without help."

_You're being too bitchy._

Brigitte sat down on the bed and composed herself._ "_Please? Sorry I used colorful language, but if you don't get rid of these things, I'll take them out myself."

"All right," said Cassie, unperturbed. "Just lay back down."

Brigitte stared at a ceiling full of patched cracks. The door was to her right; the window to her left. Across from the bed was a large cabinet. There was also a chair and a bed table.

"There," said Cassie. "I'm afraid I can't remove the IV without the doctor's permission. He's been waiting for you to wake up, though, and should be here presently. How do you feel?"

"Hungry, thirsty."

"I can help with the thirst." Cassie reached for a pitcher on the bed table. Brigitte beat her to it and snapped the lid off and took a long drink.

"Wow, you do mean thirsty!"

"How long have I been here?" Brigitte asked.

"You just arrived this morning. I'll get the doctor. He'll be very happy to know you're awake." Cassie smiled and left, closing the heavy door behind her.

Brigitte downed three-fourths the pitcher before pausing. She was feeling good, too good. It reminded her of Jason' words long ago: _Am I_ o_n the corner of fucked up and evil?_

_Did I miss a dose?_

She studied her marred left arm. She couldn't see any changes in the scars. Of course, she would have to compare to a picture to really know. She still had needle marks from the daily monkshood dose. The poisonous herb was the only substance she found that held back the changes. She cut herself to test her healing every day. The faster she healed, the closer she was to shape-shifting, and it accelerated drastically this moon cycle. Her lycanthropy was growing resistant to her treatment. This wasn't like the movies or legends, either. Once you changed, it seemed you never went back to being human.

She decided not to bring up Jeremy's death. She intended to be gone before the police came to question her.

_ Poor guy,_ _h__e was so innocent_. _He smelled so good__―_

_ Um? _

Her nose directed her feelings too much lately, part of what panicked her into the overdose.

Brigitte got up, took the IV stand with her to the bathroom, and sniffed around. She smelled a man's urine, despite the odor of the cleaners that should have removed it. She flushed; it didn't help. She examined the adjacent floor.

_He missed! Ooh, I hate that._

Her space despoiled, she wanted to find the bastard. The anger was weird to her, but that knowledge didn't quell it.

The bathroom fixtures were antiquated. The room had no shower. She tapped on the dingy mirror. Plastic, not glass. The light came on dim. She checked herself. Her hair was an epic gnarl, but she saw nothing alarming.

That is, until she spotted her nails. She gasped and hid them, then made herself look again. The cuticles went deeper and farther back. The claws were sharp, but no larger than rose thorns. She wondered if Cassie saw them. _I shouldn't have let that nurse walk out of here. _

She almost panicked before taking a closer look. They could still pass for human if they were cut. She bit the points off and spit them into the toilet, then ground down the remaining material. Her teeth were much sharper. She examined them in the mirror. They still looked human, somehow. She shook her head. How did this disease sharpen them?

_There's a new mystery with this shit every day._

She searched for her belongings, but they weren't in the cabinet or bed stand, which meant they weren't in the room.

Her hand began to tingle. She absently flicked her fingers. Numbness gripped her like a tentacle and dragged her under, into the depths of her past, to the night when her sister shape-shifted, and died.

* * *

Fifteen-year-old Brigitte followed the blood trail around the corner. Down the hall, the werewolf stood behind Sam, its skin as pink and bald as Ginger's had been. The lupine head bore no similarity to the human Ginger, though that's who she had been just twenty minutes ago.

The beast had Sam propped against the wall. He sat, soaked in his blood, eyes wide with terror and confusion. He panted. Infected, he would heal soon, if Ginger allowed it.

Brigitte felt a lump in her throat: he had only tried to help and she regretted ever involving him.

The beast had her muzzle against Sam's cheek. Brigitte's right ear heard only growls, but her left picked up distinct words. Ginger said, "_You shouldn't have hit me with that shovel, lover. You gave me such a fucking headache!"_ Ginger cuffed his shoulder. _"Never piss me off again."_

Brigitte's head spun with bewilderment. _I__'m hearing the werewolf talk? _

Ginger looked up at her sister, with eyes that reflected gold in their center. The gold winked out, but either way, the gaze paralyzed Brigitte.

Ginger said, _"Oh, look, who's here to rescue you, darling. She's so faithful!"_

Brigitte held her hands up in surrender. "Ginger."

_"B! Why so scared? I won't hurt you. If you're smart."_ The beast put a paw on Sam's bloody thigh. _"You see, I figured it out! He'll be ours now! Part of our pack."_

_Ours? She wants to share him?_

Brigitte swallowed. The mere suggestion was sick, the worst possible perversion, the worst betrayal of their bond. So obscene was the notion, Brigitte doubted her senses. _How could she be talking and how could I understand her?_

If only Brigitte didn't have an explanation: _maybe it's the infection. I swapped blood with her, so now I could understand her. The disease is already changing me. _

_I'm so fucked!_

She dropped to her hands and knees to keep herself from fainting again.

_"Come here, sis,"_ growled the beast. _"Let's seal our new pact. Together forever!"_

Brigitte found herself crawling forward. The closer she got, the less human she felt. By the time she reached Sam, she was in the embrace of her sister's scent, a warm musky-sweet potpourri of affection and power. She belonged to a pack, and felt its deep bond. Face-to-face with Sam, her gaze showed no regret, no compassion anymore. He would heal soon. She understood his status: she and her sister owned him.

_"Drink to it,"_ said the werewolf.

Without pause or thought, Brigitte began to lap up Sam's blood. Ginger joined her. They drank in communion for some time. The girl didn't question this, until she became nauseated. Even then, she still tried to be obedient, but her stomach would have none of it. She vomited. Blood entered her nostrils, blocking her sense of smell. This broke Ginger's dominance. Revulsion and self-loathing racked Brigitte. Outraged and violated, she stood up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "I can't!"

The werewolf glared at her, eyes sparkling cold blue. _"Do it!"_

"I won't!"

Ginger's fury exploded; she roared. _"You wuss!"_ She bit Sam's throat and snapped his neck with a loud crack.

"Fuck!" cried Brigitte.

The werewolf spit him out. _"There! You did that!"_

Brigitte bolted into the adjoining room.

Ginger swore, followed her and leaped on the table. _"That was your last fucking chance." _

Cornered, Brigitte squeezed behind the furnace, the crevice too narrow for the beast to fit. Fangs and claws tried to reach her. The snarling voice bellowed, _"How dare you? I'll yank your fucking limbs off. You faithless, backstabbing bitch!" _

* * *

Sweating and hyperventilating, seventeen-year-old Brigitte surfaced back into the present, the numbness in her hand fading. The flashbacks hadn't slowed down since Ginger died.

A voice directly behind her neck said, "Remembering stuff again?"

Brigitte growled, spun around with a swipe, and tangled herself in the IV line. Ginger wasn't there, but stood next to the window eight feet away. The phantom looked like Brigitte's dead sister prior to the werewolf changes. A hallucination? Brigitte believed so. Ginger stepped out of the light. "Maybe you can fill me in. The last thing I remember, you infected yourself. Why the fuck did you do that?"

Brigitte's mouth hung open, incredulous. "Because you were a bitch."

Ginger ignored the insult and looked ecstatic. She clapped her hands together, which made no sound. "You spoke to me! You spoke to me!" She jumped with excitement and floated back down to the floor. "Finally we're talking again. After how many months? Six? Why did you treat me like that, B?"

Brigitte untangled herself. "Because you're a fucking bitch."

"Why do you say that? I can't remember anything. Did I really shape-shift? What the fuck did I do? Kill Mom and Dad or something?"

"Or something." Brigitte turned away.

Ginger glided in front but stayed out of reach. "How many times have I said I'm sorry over these months?"

"Your apologies were phony, just like you." Brigitte sat on the bed. "You also said some hateful things. A few weeks ago, you said you couldn't wait to see me change."

"'Cause I was pissed off and hysterical. Imagine if only one person knew you existed, you had to be with her all the time, and she wasn't talking to you? It's not like I can play Rock, Paper, Scissors with myself. You had me at the breaking point, B."

"You? Well, I'm beyond it. You're not even real."

"That's still your excuse for abusing me? I'm a hallucination? You almost had me believing it, but I have proof now. I was there when they found you. You almost died, you moron. You were buried under the snow, and I saved your ass― " She averted her gaze and murmured, "With some help."

"Are you supposed to be my guardian angel or something?"

"Or something. I don't know what I am, B, but if you still think I'm some figment, why are you talking to me?"

"Good question." Brigitte grabbed a pair of hospital slippers to hide her feet, which sported claws. "Maybe because I needed to tell my sister she was a vile bitch."

"You said that already."

"No, I didn't say 'vile,' yet. The more we talk, though, the crazier I feel. I can't afford to lose my mind. People will die if I do."

Tears appeared in Ginger's eyes. "You can't believe in ghosts, but you believe in werew― "

Brigitte covered her ears. "Stop!"

Ginger's movement became a discontinuous jumble, switching abruptly, confounding Brigitte. Then, Ginger stood drawn back, eyebrows raised. "Remember how I wouldn't let you say it either? Hard topic, isn't it? There's a reason for that. It makes you want to hide it, B. Please, don't give me the silent treatment again."

Brigitte's face was cold. She looked away.

Ginger hastened in front of her and knelt. Her voice cracked. "Not again! Please, B! If I lose it, I'll be insane for eternity."

Brigitte averted her eyes.

"No!" Ginger shouted. Then her voice choked. "It's like I'm in prison, and you're putting me in fucking solitary."

Brigitte didn't respond, but her expression said _tough shit._

Ginger posture again switched without continuity. On her belly, she started to flail. Her pounding and kicking the floor made no sounds, but her screams were ear-splitting. She hurled a barrage of creative obscenities at Brigitte.

_Another tantrum. Typical,_ thought Brigitte.

Despite the discomfort from the noise, Brigitte smiled, as though she found this hilarious. As a distraction, she pulled her fore-finger back, joint clicking and popping, until it lay flat against the back of her hand. She let go and stared fascinated as the finger held at that grotesque angle. With a flex she snapped it back into joint.

She started to repeat with her middle finger, but― between Ginger's screams― she heard footsteps and voices from the hall. She sat up straight. They were clear enough to pick out words, but then Ginger got in her face. "Werewolf! Werewolf! Werewolf! Werewolf . . ."

Brigitte covered her ears, but this didn't buffer Ginger's volume.

"How many doses do you think you missed, B? One? Two? No, you were out for a whole fucking week. You're really close to the full moon now. You need help, and you better talk to me. I heard some important things while you were― "

"Shoo!" Brigitte said, sweeping her arm through Ginger, who gasped, closed her eyes and went transparent.

"How mature!" Arms cradling shoulders, Ginger faded away, passing into freezing oblivion.

A man with glasses entered. He was forty something, of small stature, close to Brigitte's height. He was impeccably groomed, dressed in a blue suit. This worked well with his dark complexion. His hair was black. He had a pleasant, spicy scent to him. This, to Brigitte's discomfort, made her hungrier.

"So, it is Brigitte Kilpatrick?" he said softly in an Indian accent. "I am Dr. Javed Gadepalli, your treating physician. I am happy to meet you."

Despite her unease, Brigitte was impressed by his appearance and even attracted to him. She reverted to her high-school shyness. "Dr. Gad-a― " She covered her mouth, which looked coy, but she was actually preventing herself from drooling.

"Gadepalli. It is Indian." He had a warm smile.

He pulled up the chair and sat at the opposite side of the bed table. Then, all of his charm and friendliness disappeared. He wrote on his clipboard and ignored her.

In silence, she peered at him. His skin quivered, in tiny, rhythmic undulations on his face, neck, and hands. She blinked and wondered if he had a disease or if she was imagining it.

The awkward silence was broken by even more awkwardness when her stomach growled. Brigitte thought she would lose her mind before he stopped scribbling.

"First, Miss Kilpatrick, do you wish to hurt yourself?"

"No."

"Do you feel you are a danger to others?"

"No." It was close to the complete truth. She spent her time on the streets staying alone, trying to protect people from her violent impulses. So far, she'd been successful, and only hurt a few people who deserved a taste of misery.

"Why did you poison yourself?"

"I did?" said Brigitte.

"Your blood tested positive for aconitine, an extremely potent toxin derived from the monkshood family of plants."

The doctor met her eyes, his expression unreadable. Brigitte squirmed and wished she hadn't bitten off her claws.

_ How dare you look at my blood? _

Of course they had. Hospitals always did, the reason she avoided them. The doctor couldn't be telling her everything because she knew her blood wasn't human. It decayed quickly, turning tar black within fifteen minutes. In a half-hour, all that remained was a colorless residue. She knew this from bleeding herself daily.

She restrained her outrage and fear. "You're lying. What do you want?"

Unperturbed, he scrawled more and then gestured to the cuts and needle tracks on her left arm. "You are obviously familiar with its effects. There were seventeen vials of it in your luggage. Monkshood extract, the source of your aconitine. All measured out to the same, highly-lethal dose."

She clenched her teeth; anxiety eroded her patience.

"How long have you been injecting it and cutting yourself?"

Brigitte decided to stop this. "Look, doctor, thank you for the help. Take this IV out, _now_. I need to go."

"Monkshood is not a drug. You cannot get high with it."

"No shit? Why do you presume I'm trying to get high? I'm fine now; so, give it back and let me go."

He made another note. "You do not know how close you came to dying. You were found in an alley under a snowdrift. The trauma center rewarmed you, and had to defibrillate you, twice. That should never happen to somebody your age. You survived the poisoning only because you nearly froze yourself to death, too. You are so lucky."

Brigitte shook her head; she couldn't believe the story. How she could feel so vigorous now, yet have come so close? Though Ginger's words came back to her. _"You almost died, you moron. You were buried under the snow . . ."_

"The use of monkshood and the cuts on your arm suggest a careless disregard for your own well-being. Whatever reason you have for shooting aconitine, it _is_ reckless."

_Reckless?_ She gaped. The irony cracked her composure. Brigitte laughed: a sterile sound, devoid of joy, as painful to hear as it was to make. "Yeah, it's reckless all right." She dried her eyes with her sleeve, "And none of your fucking business."

"May we contact your parents?"

"No, and I'm eighteen," she lied.

"Who is Ginger?"

Brigitte blinked but otherwise hid her surprise. "Ginger who?"

"May we contact her?"

She chuckled, this time with relief. _Yeah, with a Ouija board._ "Cut the bullshit. You have no right to keep me here. Let me go."

"I am afraid not, Brigitte," he said, with finality. "Your use of aconitine demonstrates you are a danger to yourself. I am admitting you for involuntary commitment."

Brigitte drew back as though slapped. _They still do that? _Her hands balled into fists. A pulsing ache deep in her gut warned her: the beast was awake. "No! You can _not_ lock me up in here."

"We will help you deal with the issues making you suicidal."

"I'm not suicidal!" she yelled, indignant.

"You came very close. It took you six days to wake up this time. Next time― "

Brigitte sprang to her feet. "Wait! _Six_ _days_? I haven't dosed in six days?_" _

_ "_That is correct, not including the time you were frozen."

She sank back down in her chair. Her body hair, which she hadn't noted prior, stood up against her clothes, making her itch. "But― your nurse said I only came in this morning."

"You were transferred here this morning, but you were unconscious at Regional Hospital for six days."

"No!" Panic swept through Brigitte. "What day is this?"

"Wednesday, January twenty-second."

"Fuck!" She grasped her hair around her temples: _It's only __four__ days until the full moon! _The time was fixed in her memory, as it was for every cycle. Saturday it would rise early: 3:37 p.m.

The twitching of his skin now made sense. She could now see minute undulations caused by blood flow. Ginger had described it long ago.

She had about a hundred hours left as a human, and her mind would change faster than her body. She recalled how brutal Ginger and Jason became in their last days. If any more time passed without monkshood, she might embrace change as both of them had.

"Please, that monkshood you found in my bag, you have to inject me with it _now_."

"I'm going to― ung!" Her throat closed off as though it froze in mid-swallow, and then she lost control of her voice. She coughed, groaned, and babbled gibberish. Her whole body tensed with the effort, but she stuttered and stammered only partial words with broken syntax. Sweat beaded on her face from the effort.

_The disease won't let me tell him!_

The doctor stood looking concerned for the first time. "Brigitte― ?"

Brigitte gave up trying to say it. Like magic, the stress was gone; she regained control of her voice. "Yes, I'm all right!" she shouted. She never tried to tell anybody about werewolfism before. This confirmed she never had a choice. Neither did Ginger.

She panted. The excruciating effort alone made her hate this Dr. Gadepalli. He couldn't be allowed to imprison her. She vaulted the bed.

She pushed the door open and collided with two large male attendants rushing in. Brigitte tried to lunge between them. One grabbed her upper thigh and touched her privates. She punched him below the belt. Soft tissue gave under her knuckles. He yelled and collapsed.

_ Fucking pervert! _

The smell of blood roused her now. The other, taller attendant clutched her left arm. He tried to get behind her. At a bad angle, she landed swift body punches. He grunted with each one, splattering blood on his coat from her blown IV.

They circled in the hall. She wriggled against his efforts to lock her arm. Female patients gathered around cheering her. The doctor checked the fallen attendant who had gone still. Brigitte's assailant caught her other arm and picked her up. This kept her from punching full-force, but she still cuffed him in the face. He pulled her arms apart; she headbutted him in the chest twice. He slung her into the wall, pinning her. With savage force, she kicked him. When he twisted to protect his groin, she grabbed him with her legs. Now she had the initiative and pulled him closer while snapping at his face. He recoiled, as much from her hateful glare as from her teeth, and fell.

Brigitte released him, landing on her feet. The crowd of disheveled teenage girls had grown. They applauded her. She dashed through them. An alarm sounded as she passed the nurses' station. Double doors opened ahead: two more attendants entered. She spotted a stairwell door to the right and ducked into it.

Rushing down two flights, she came to an exit. She pushed the latch and threw herself against the cold metal. It wouldn't open. She pounded on it, scratched her nails bloody. Her left hand went numb, and she was again immersed in memories.

* * *

The beast, Ginger, cornered Brigitte in their basement bedroom. Scared into boldness, Brigitte jumped up on the bed and brandished the butcher knife. "I'm not dying!"

_"Tough shit!"_ Ginger growled and pounced. The impact threw them both off the bed, Ginger landing on top. She snarled wordlessly, fangs at her sister's throat. Brigitte, terrified into paralysis and bewildered by Ginger's scent, lay defenseless.

_". . . so lucky . . ."_ Ginger hissed, going limp. Her body unchanged, the hate drained from her eyes. They became blue pools that drained into the vortexes of dilating pupils, a hallucination caused by the scent. Brigitte switched her gaze to see the her own hand holding the knife in werewolf's ribs.

She pushed Ginger off and scrambled against the wall. The werewolf lay inert, except for labored breathing. Brigitte still held the syringe of monkshood in her numb left hand. She waited for her sister to heal enough to take it; but over the next few minutes, Ginger's breathing deteriorated.

_I couldn't have . . . _

She averted her eyes, but memories of Ginger surrounded her, and allowed her no relief from the shock. This was the room where they grew up together, their sanctuary against the world. Every object, every photograph was a reminder of a childhood spent in devotion to Ginger. Brigitte peered back at the dying beast in front of her. Ginger showed no signs of recovering and remained in beast form. The cruel truth closed in on Brigitte: she had killed her sister, her lifelong best friend.

_What happened?_

The ugly creature was all Brigitte had left. She crawled back and embraced Ginger. In a few moments the breathing ceased and left only Brigitte's sobs to stir the silence.

* * *

Brigitte surfaced into the present again. Her anger collapsed into grief. She slumped against the cold, bloodstained door. The staff entered the stairwell above.

She felt the menacing throb in her gut, stronger than her heart. In mere days the disease would consume and regenerate her in its own image. She recalled the faces in the hall, and pitied them. Nothing she could do now would save them from what she would do later, after the disease warped her conscience.

"You should have let me die," she sobbed, unable to look at the staff. "Two years holding it back, I deserved that much."

Three attendants pounced on her. They crushed her into the door, then locked her arms. They needn't have bothered. The fight had gone out of Brigitte. For now.

Cassie approached with a syringe.

"No, don't!" Brigitte begged. "Drugs make this worse. I've tried!"

"Yes, you have tried a couple," remarked the dark-haired attendant said. He held her marred left arm.

"Byron, that'll do!" snapped Cassie as she stuck Brigitte. The cold liquid was like hatred entering her veins. The pulsing spread to her joints. She panicked at first, then surrendered as the throbbing permeated her entire body. In thirty seconds, it was all she could feel.

Brigitte recognized Byron's scent: the same person who defiled her space with his piss, the same guy just fought against. She slurred her words. "You're so dead. I'll twist your fucking arms off— Saturday . . . we'll play." 

"Brigitte, calm down. We'll help you. You're not fighting your problems alone anymore," said Cassie.

Brigitte put her head back, heard herself giggle. "Sooo, many dolls to chew on. . ." She met Cassie's eyes. "Sooo hungry for you. When do I eat?" Her muscles relaxed but her mind was cruel. They took her up the steps, and she felt joy for the first time in two years. So long she carried the burden, and now it was gone. This was going to be fun.


	3. Invisible Companion

**Chapter 3:**

INVISIBLE COMPANION

For five hours, Brigitte was not really Brigitte. Even so, the drug that took away her ability to think also impaired her ability to act on what she felt. They fed her, but it was nothing but broth, gelatin and apple juice that did nothing against her hunger. She drank the broth down imagining it was blood. When she was done, another doctor, Dr. Loraine, came in and asked her stupid, irritating questions. Like the nurse Cassie this doctor reminded Brigitte of Pamela. She had red hair, though, like Ginger did, only she was butt-ugly.

"Do you have any allergies?"

She laughed. "Silver, oh, and cabbage . . ."

. . . "Can we contact your parents?"

"They're fucking dead," she said, giggling.

"How?"

"Pilot light blew the house. . . ."

She pissed Brigitte off with more and more questions, and then caught her off guard: "Who's Ginger? Can we contact her?"

Brigitte was stunned: "You can see her?"

"Why, can you? Are you seeing her now?"

No, Brigitte was not seeing the Ginger-thing then. She had no idea how they knew about Ginger. Brigitte could only stare back. Her mind quickly wandered. She tried to imagine the point she could slash in Dr. Loraine's throat that would cause fastest bleeding. Brigitte was so hungry and drugged, that human flesh and blood seemed like a delicacy to her.

They finally finished all their stupid questions, and they brought in her knapsack and clean clothes and left her alone. She continued to lay on the bed. And for an hour all she could think about was meat and blood. The smell, the look of them, the feel of them in her mouth, the taste. The thought of them being from a person made it somehow more fulfilling, as though a life taken made hers more exalted.

She remembered one night when her Ginger illusion flew into a rage, as she had refused to talk to it. It straddled the foot of the bed and shouted to her seething, _"You think you're fucking better than me, Brigitte? Because I became a slut, a druggie, and a fucking killer? You just wait! When it changes how you feel totally. I can't fucking wait to see it!"_

When it first appeared to her five months before, Brigitte had already accepted the fact that she was cracking under the loneliness and trauma, if not first from the werewolfism itself. So, seeing the Ginger-thing was mundane as receiving a letter in the mail. Even so, she felt a keen responsibility to keep herself as sane as possible. No matter what it did, she wouldn't talk to it. Besides, it irritated her. It wasn't her sister, and it only reminded her of her loss.

In all actuality, beneath her cold reasoning and sense of responsibility, Brigitte could neither see nor understand how furious she felt toward her late sister. She had tried to help Ginger and had tried every way she could to save their bond, short of dying, short of becoming subhuman. Even there she compromised. She shared blood with Ginger because Ginger would have it no other way. Ginger repaid her by killing Sam and trying to kill _her_. Sam, who was totally innocent, who was only there because he respected her. Because of Ginger's intransigence, Brigitte had the disease now.

Brigitte could not work out in her mind how much of it had been Ginger and how much of it had been the werewolf. That werewolf definitely still understood Brigitte until the very end, and had even told her to drink blood. (It sounded clear to Brigitte.) She would never dream of taking her rage out on her real sister had she lived, but the Ginger-thing was not Ginger. She saw it as part of herself that actually just looked like her late sister. She had felt no conscience or responsibility toward it.

As Brigitte ignored it over more than five months, it went through several stages. First it tried to get her to answer questions, asking outrageous things; then it became pissed, where it would shout at her in public and try to rattle her in the middle of things. It would spend hours screaming. It would fly into tantrums, but since it couldn't touch anything, it was just noise in Brigitte's head. It tried to interfere with anything she did by standing in front of her, putting its hands in front of her face or shouting in her ear, but Brigitte discovered that simply waving her hand through it would make it stop. Apparently, it couldn't bear that. After that, the only thing it would do when it appeared was cry. Sometimes it would keep Brigitte awake for hours at night just crying. Even so, it was never there for an entire night or an entire day. It usually appeared irregularly two to three times a day. It had never been present more than five hours in a day total.

Recently, it had settled into just taunting her. When Brigitte noticed she was getting a tolerance to monkshood, it said, _"That shit isn't going to stop it, Bee. Nothing will stop it." _

Then, here at Four Point Psychiatric, Brigitte had cracked and talked to it.

Now, Brigitte's memories became overwhelmed by the thought of the taste of blood again: Sam's blood. Her whole body flushed and heated up at the memory of it. She thought of its saltiness and its tang, and nuances she couldn't identify. _Hormones?_ Normally, she hated herself for it. When she drank Sams blood in that trance with Ginger, she came out of it vomiting, but since then she had often found herself thinking about the taste as the most shamefully pleasurable part of remembering Sam. She had never kissed him, but in her fantasies she did not kiss him, she bit him and swallowed his blood. In her normal state, Brigitte would have never allowed the thoughts to go any further, but in this drugged state without the monkshood, it began to arouse her. She longed to hold him and sink her claws into his chest. She actually clenched her nails into the sheets in excitement.

There was to be no pleasure from it, though, because right then, the cramps intensified. In five minutes, the cramps were all she could think about. _Ginger is this what you went through? _Her belly, her back and her hips all tormented her. When they checked with her, she told them she was in pain, but they would not give her anything. After two hours, Dr. Gadepalli came in to examine her, and told her to rate her pain between one and ten.

"Fucking TEN!" Brigitte gulped. "You caused this! I'll tear your fucking throat out for this!"

It took them an hour to make up their minds about treating her pain. They gave her something that was not totally ineffective. It gave her at least some relief when it finally took effect.

At that time, they could not know that the tranquilizer they had given her was wearing off much faster than normal. Brigitte was returning to being Brigitte, and was mortified by how she had thought in the previous hours. It made her feel like she had been dipped in slime. She thought of what the Ginger illusion had said. How could her bedrock feelings become so completely turned? She could not wrap her mind around it.

She could hear the sounds of people in the hallway, and hear their voices. While not understanding them, their voices were distinct enough that she thought she could count how many people were out there if she tried.

When she moved to get up, with her hips aching, it was as though her legs weren't working right. She shifted her hips and heard her joints crack into place. She could move her legs in the familiar way now, but she had made a discovery. She tensed her thigh and hip muscles, and heard a loud double pop from her hips. They were out of joint. Intrigued, she rotated her left leg, then her right leg. With the latter, she slowly turned it completely backward, as it made squeezing noises. She could rotate it until the ball of the joint was sticking against the mattress and her foot was totally backward. To her bewilderment, she was able to bend her knee from that position, and wiggle her foot and toes. She lifted it up, and saw the entire sole of her foot come six inches from her face before the shock hit.

"Fuck!"

She quickly untwisted it and popped it back in joint without any effort. She looked at the door which had a large window in it, but a stiff, plastic curtain outside covered it. How she hoped nobody had seen that. _I'm a freak!_

Her memory clicked. "_A freak, mutant lay."_

_ Were you able to do that, Ginger? _Obviously, she could.

As if to make Brigitte even more uneasy, there was right then a knock on the door. In a second, the curtain was pushed up to reveal Cassie, who smiled at her and then checked something on a clipboard. She put the plastic shade back down. Brigitte calmed herself down. They were just checking on her. She sighed in relief and got up for the bathroom.

She did the usual stuff, but with some unusual needs. The bathroom smelled of some gross antiseptic that still left the other appalling odors loud and clear to Brigitte's nose. It was squalid, grim, and depressing, with a dim light, (which didn't effect her much), a gross toilet, a somewhat warped mirror, and the worst thing of all: it had no door. There was no way to keep from seeing it and smelling it.

She checked her face in the mirror. To her bewilderment, she didn't notice any changes. Her teeth weren't longer. Nor were her ears. Her eyes were still blue-green, same color as Ginger's had been. Her hair had the right hue. Brigitte took some solace in this, until she touched her incisor. It was needle sharp. In fact, all her teeth were sharper. _How did it change my teeth? _There was a new enigma with this practically every day. She began to comb her thick, almost black hair with the little flimsy comb that was in the kit. Afterward, she thought to reach back.

_ Oh fuck!_

She had a tail. It was no more than a half inch long, and it was wiggling involuntarily. It actually felt numb. _Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_ Since it came in feeling numb, it was no wonder Brigitte had to tell Ginger about hers. All this time, Brigitte had thought her sister had been concealing it.

She emerged from the bathroom. With contempt, she could see, as before, that her nails were dangerous. The cuticles were also all the way back to her first knuckles now, and ran deeper into the top of her finger. They were canine shaped. Somebody would notice them, and, worse, she might be tempted to use them- again. She went back to the bed, laid down and with distaste, started to bite them off. She bit one nail off, put it on the dresser, and bit another off and put it next to it and began to form the neat rows she liked. She looked at the walls with their yellow, glossy paint. The room looked so damn old. How old was this place? Brigitte hadn't even known what Goth was until after Ginger died. Oddly to Brigitte now, she and Ginger used to love ghost and vampire stories, but never werewolf stories.

She then had that accelerating feeling that was always a prelude to a visitation. She saw movement in the corner of her eye, and knew what it was. The Ginger-thing came to the foot of the bed and stood, looking at her. It dressed differently than it ever had, in a blue coat and blue double midriffs. Brigitte tingled when she remembered it was exactly what Ginger wore when they both visited Sam earlier on the day Trina died. The illusion also had the same streaks in its hair and the same fangs and nail-claws, sharp enough to kill Norman. When Brigitte did not acknowledge it, it looked disgusted and went to the side table with the lunch tray. It absorbed itself in something while Brigitte bit off another claw, and then another.

Suddenly, it turned around in excitement: "Bee, look! I can move this plastic spoon if I really try. Come on. Here! Watch me do it!"

Brigitte ignored it and kept biting her nails.

"Oh, Brigitte! Come on, please, please look!" It sounded like a child who had just done something clever and wanted her father to watch her do it again.

Brigitte's nails looked ugly as hell, but they weren't going to kill anyone now and could pass for very badly kept human nails if nobody looked too close. She then attended to the bandages on her hands. She lifted the one on the back of her right hand. It had cleanly healed.

"Are you going to be a first class bitch to me again?" the Ginger-thing asked.

Brigitte did not answer it, thinking instead about how that the staff would change the bandages soon and would see her cuts had healed. She took a deep breath and bit down on the back of her hand just with her sharp incisors. She grunted in pain. The bleeding wound looked pretty to her. The blood tasted flat, though, as it was her own. She then wiped it off and put the bandage back on it.

The Ginger illusion sat down next to her, though there was no chair where it was sitting. It gazed at Brigitte with concern.

"You're- really different now. I'm not talking about the claws and shit, either. You're mind is different. I could never see you chewing on yourself before."

"Just like Ginger-wolf got different," answered Brigitte.

"Oh, good, you are talking to me still," it said with visible relief. "I was fucking worried."

Brigitte picked up one of the small bandages on her knuckle. She punctured it with her incisors. The sting made her wince.

"You're healing faster, too," said Ginger. "Your getting close."

"I'll kill myself first."

The Ginger thing shook its head: "It won't let you kill yourself, Bee. Not now. You're too close. It . . . has you."

Brigitte stopped and looked at the hallucination resentfully.

It continued: "Don't you think I would have? The night before, when you caught me, do you think I went in with a knife just to cut my tail off?."

"You were going to do _IT_ . . . _without me?_"

"Oh, you resent not being asked? I knew then you wouldn't die with me. That's why I _thought _I didn't slash my throat."

Brigitte then caught herself. For once, she had thought she was talking to Ginger again.

"Try it. You have no problem biting yourself bloody now. I dare you. Try biting out your own fucking wrist."

"No!"

It leaned back. "See?"

Brigitte tried to think rationally about it. She did not want other people to die and despised the changes in herself. Now she was alone and armed as effectively as with a knife. Suicide would be the obvious solution. She should be able to do it now. Yet, the whole idea was obscene to her. Of all the disgusting notions she had over the last hours, it was the most repugnant. The hallucination was right.

Brigitte declared: "I'm not going to kill people here."

"Well, then, you just have to get out," said the illusion. "Wait until you know what it's like to be the strongest, fastest thing in the room. Bet you're already impervious to cold now. Must be a relief, huh? By tomorrow, the shit they shot you up with probably won't even effect you anymore . . . "

"Yeah, I'll be like a fuckin' force of nature . . . with cramps. So, you can't wait to see me change?"

"No!" it shook its head and looked away. "No. This is nightmare for me, too. And I mean that literally."

"I don't see you screaming . . . "

"You _did!_"

That stopped Brigitte. She had. Screaming and crying for weeks.

"Look," said Brigitte, "I'm desperate enough. If you want to help, and you're actually maybe a ghost, can't you look for a way I can get out of here?"

It bowed its head down. Its thick red hair now hid most its face. "I . . . can't go out of your presence. I've tried."

"What . . . ? Well, that proves something then."

"Yeah, it proves that you're a bitch, more so since you woke up."

"Fuck you."

"You gave me the silent treatment for months. You know, I would have left then, or looked for something else to do, but the only person on the fucking planet that I could be with and who could see me wouldn't talk to me at all, wouldn't even look at me and wouldn't tell me why. I couldn't go anywhere else! You know what you put me through?"

"Like, I'd feel sorry for you if you were really Ginger," said Brigitte.

The Ginger-thing sneered with its teeth, with their long incisors. "It's mean either way, Brigitte."

"I don't have any conscience," said Brigitte, "and neither did Ginger."

"So, are you going to blame me for Jeremy, too?" it said. "Look, it's too bad he's dead, but what was that fuck-up doing showing up after midnight? Did you even give him your address? No. How many cold shoulders did you have to give him that night? He was just begging to be ripped up by a jealous boyfriend . . ."

"Don't you ever call _that thing _my boyfriend . . ." snapped Brigitte.

The apparition paused and made a sighing sound. "That's not what I meant, Bee. I meant even if he was pulling that shit on miss average, he was putting himself in danger."

"He was clueless, but harmless," said Brigitte, the thought of that innocent guy being killed was bringing tears to her eyes.

Brigitte realized at this point that she had lost control over herself. She could not help but talk to it anymore. To her, it meant she was finally cracking. Two years of being alone fighting the curse and she was losing her sanity.

"He didn't know where his gonads were leading him," said the phantom.

"No! He was taking me to the hospital, trying to save my life. He was a good guy."

"You've gone fucking average on me!" it said, in a mock tone.

That actually caused Brigitte to laugh for the first time she remembered: "Nothing about me is fucking average now."

Brigitte came finally to the bandage on her left palm. She took it off, and began to take her incisors to it. The Ginger thing looked at her do this with sadness. Brigitte knew what was coming, and her hand was tingling at the very thought.

"Bee, since we're talking now, maybe you'll tell me . . . "

"No. I won't go there." She poked it with her incisor, and couldn't feel it. Her hand was going numb.

"You fucking cunt!" it said, standing up.

Brigitte turned her attention to her legs. The body hair had really grown over the days. There were red-brown hairs growing on her shin. It was longer and thicker than normal leg hairs, and it looked like animal hair.

"I'm betting they don't give out razors here," said the illusion, sarcastically, smugly sitting back down on its invisible chair. Brigitte wished she could knock it out from under her.

"No." Brigitte took a handful of hair and closed her eyes. She then pulled, hard, and with a rip, the handful came out leaving a patch of bleeding follicles. The sting was initially even worse than re-cutting her hands.

The Ginger thing was stunned: "Oh, Bee, that's brutal!"

Brigitte took another handful and ripped it. It said: "No, please stop doing that to yourself!"

There was knock. Brigitte stopped, then with a swift burst swept the nails into the trashcan, put the hair under the pillow, and put her marred legs under the covers. The shade was opened and closed, and then the door opened. It was another nurse. At least she didn't remind Brigitte of her mom. No, she was a pretty, blue-eyed blond. A cheerleader sort. To Brigitte's surprise, the Ginger illusion did not disappear, though it looked less solid, maybe by comparison. It looked down at her, it's blue-green eyes almost transparent.

"Brigitte? Hi! I'm Laura. I'm your assignment nurse tonight."

Brigitte wouldn't answer, and tried to look as dazed as possible.

"It's good to see you've calmed down now," said Laura. "Are you feeling less dizzy? That side effect wears off."

"When . . . do we eat?" asked Brigitte, sounding sleepy.

"Not too long. About a half-hour. I was going to take you out and give you a tour and have you meet some of the other patients."

Brigitte did not want to get to know them, especially when she thought she might be killing them soon, but she needed to continue to act drugged and compliant, on the slim chance they would change their minds and let her go.

"I'd rather . . . skip that. Is liquid all I get to eat?" she said laconically.

"You haven't eaten in five days, Brigitte, and the pain drug that you're on might irritate your stomach."

"My stomach is fine. It can handle it. What I can't handle is being starved."

"Well, I'll see what the doctor says."

_ Yeah, right you will._

"I'll take you to the lounge where you can wait for dinner. If you want, you could dress in your own cloths before we go." Laura gestured to Brigitte's clothes folded on the dresser. "We washed them for you. I'm afraid we can't let you have your belt or your shoes, but you have those shoes with Velcro instead of laces" she said, gesturing. "Do you want to dress first?"

"Yes . . . I'd like that," closing her eyes like she was drowsy.

"Don't just fall asleep. I'll be back in five," said Laura, about to leave.

"Oh, wait," said Brigitte. "Can I have a razor . . . for shaving my legs?"

Laura just gaped at Brigitte's cut-up left arm, while the Ginger-thing laughed and said, "You still asked? You dork!"

Brigitte's face got red.


	4. Crazy Woman

**Chapter 4:**

CRAZY WOMAN

The little assurance June Collier had in her recovery sank the moment Brigitte Fitzgerald first entered the room that evening. It had been fourteen weeks since June had met the Soldiers Templars, and exactly ten weeks since she had been hospitalized. She was still shaken by the fact that none of it had been real. The doctors had her on four medications, which, to her amazement, totally changed her beliefs. As Dr. Lorraine adjusted the doses, the hallucinations faded as well. June was gaining some confidence that she could at least tell which people were real and which weren't. Bobby wasn't real. She could tell that because he was too anachronistic; none of his comings and goings had any continuity, and most telling: only she could see him. She did her best not to talk to him, though, she hated how it grieved him. She told the doctor about him, and the doctor raised her Zyprexa, which only made her feel more dazed, but did nothing to keep her from seeing Bobby.

Her psychotic odyssey now over, the reality she returned to was bleak and stark. Three months before she had been a perpetual A-student with a scholarship to the University of Toronto. Now, after being locked in Four Point Psychiatric Hospital for two and a half months, she faced a bleak future. Worse, her family didn't visit her, didn't even contact her. She wished at least her sister Angie could forgive her, though it was hard for June to believe even now how disastrously wrong she had been. It felt so certain. Prior to her psychosis and hospitalization, she never admitted to being wrong, and it seemed it had never been necessary, one of the reasons, she realized, why everybody had abandoned her. Now, six weeks before her eighteenth birthday, all indications from her family were she was being thrown out of the house. Her faithless ex, Keith, had been the first to run when she showed signs of psychosis and that had been bad enough, but even concerning him she felt so many regrets now. Soon she would be discharged, and who could she call then? Her unreal friends and enemies were all gone; the cause that previously gave her life such excitement and meaning was gone with them, all illusory, leaving everything dull and empty. She might have imagined all of it, but at least she had a place in it. More than that, her mind had proven itself a huge liar, and she knew she would never regain the self-assurance she always had relied on. Then there was more guilt and more shame from things she had done when psychotic, things she hoped she had not actually done, and things she hoped she never knew about.

Brigitte entered the lounge as June read Jack London's _Call of the Wild, _which she had already read it four times. _What a depressing book to have in a mental hospital! _She also had already read every book in this place, and every pamphlet about mental illness and medications multiple times. She asked Dr. Loraine if she could borrow medical her medical books. June already knew the end of this book made her cry reliably, and oddly, she wanted to cry. It would prove she wasn't totally numb. She reached up to touch the small bruise in front of her ear she received from Violet Kramer's elbow yesterday. Though Violet apologized, she surely had done it on purpose_. _At only four foot eleven (147 centimeters), June was an expert at dodging accidental elbows, but she couldn't dodge Violet's because Violet had aimed it. From fingering the bruise, June's hand swept a lock of brownish-blond hair away from her glasses. She was so nearsighted. She looked over at the television. There were ten other girls, age thirteen-to-twenty in here now. What they all had in common was their minds were broken, like hers. They were all watching the television, making June feel isolated, as television bored her worse than reading _Call of the Wild_ again.

Right then, Laura brought the drugged-out Brigitte into the room, and spoke while Brigitte looked around dazed. June already knew the girl's name, like everyone, from the nursing assignment charts up by the desk. Everyone talked about her audacious escape attempt, and the fact that she _had put Phil in the hospital. _The staff actually had to call an ambulance to take him into town to Regional. June, who had been in group therapy saw, them take Phil but did not see Brigitte's run for the door, and had not laid eyes on Brigitte until now.

The very sight of Brigitte distressed her and confused her senses. There was some unearthly _colour_ to her, but no it wasn't that, an uncanny _sound_ emanated from her, no, it wasn't that either, an extrinsic _odor_ exuding from her . . . but none of that fit. All of June's senses seemed to be passing the buck between them trying to make sense of what was so obviously wrong with this girl. June had never experienced anything like it. It so alarmed her, that without knowing it, she had involuntarily stood up and begun to back away.

Even more perplexing was who followed Brigitte in. Undoubtedly a hallucination, the tall redhead, like Bobby, _had no shadows_ _on her._ She dressed differently than everyone in here, more risque with a double midriff, the top one being a fishnet. She had striking white streaks in her long hair. Laura talked to Brigitte but did not talk to the redhead, who also had nobody else's attention when she obviously should. Though just when June thought nobody else saw it, Laura left, and Brigitte then talked to it. It talked back. June couldn't hear what they were saying at this distance, but they were definitely conversing.

_ I'm seeing somebody else' s hallucination?_

Before June could recover, the apparition looked her right in the eye and jumped in surprise. June turned away and looked out the window at the white snow-covered landscape that would very soon fade into total darkness. She felt no escape now from Brigitte or her companion. June guessed, though, that if she could hallucinate a person, she could also hallucinate a real person talking to it. Was Brigitte even real? June's mind had already proven to be a huge liar. _Her name was on the chart, everybody was talking about her. Brigitte is REAL_. Nevertheless, her mind had never lied to her in a way similar to the inexplicable fear and confusion she felt just looking at Brigitte. Never.

"Hi," said a female voice, timidly.

It was the redheaded hallucination, tall, standing to June's side four feet away, consistent in appearance from June's last gaze; it still wore the blue double midriff and high boots. Some hallucinations did not stay very consistent. Unlike Bobby, it didn't show any signs of bleeding, but instead had _fangs and claws_. At June's height, she could look right up into its teeth, which, without shadows, made the fangs very obvious. June could not immediately respond to it.

"I know you can see me," it added. "I saw you looking at me."

Despite its appearance, the apparition wasn't nearly as frightening to June as Brigitte, who was definitely real. June was so apprehensive about Brigitte, that she felt learning about her could be a matter of life or death. Though she didn't know if Brigitte's "hallucination" would be the best source.

"Yes, I can see you," said June, looking out the window, lowering her voice. She tried to smile at it. "Now, please tell me why I shouldn't be able to?"

This startled the apparition, which said, "Because nobody else can but my sister."

"Your _sister_,_" _June said, "That's Brigitte."

She glanced over at Brigitte now, who was watching television, her back to them. Her posture was either tranquilized or sulky.

"You know? Yes," it said, "Brigitte."

"And your name is?"

"Ginger."

"Ginger, glad to meet you. I'm June. I'm used to talking to things that aren't there, and you're a cinch compared to the Rosicrucians."

"To the Rosi-whos?" asked Ginger.

"Never mind, they weren't real Rosicrucians anyway."

"Talking to your imaginary friends again, li'l honey?" June cringed at the sound of the voice, because it was Helen, light blond, brown eyed, wreaking of tobacco like an ashtray, always smiling painfully, always laughing inappropriately.

"Don't call me that," said June.

Life was a total joke to Helen because Helen's life was a total disaster. June was forgiving of her, because despite her cluelessness, Helen was not at all a bad person, which was surprising. June had never been raped by a stepfather, been bounced around in the foster care system, been knocked up, been in a group home and a homeless shelter. These were only a small sample of the ordeals Helen had suffered, and the poor girl was only sixteen.

"Oh, sorry," said Helen, "But you are the cutest!"

"But . . . I'm not bi," said June. "So, please, don't call me by lesbian pet names."

Helen laughed. She could not see Ginger, of course, who looked perturbed at having had their conversation interrupted. She wouldn't have a good impression of Helen, because for some odd reason, Helen did always stagger up to you, even though she wasn't drunk, high or brain damaged.

"I just wanted to let you know you were talking to somebody not here. You might not know it."

June made a gesture toward a medical tech standing in the corner taking notes, "They're taking notes on us Helen, every day," said June. "I'm being watched, Dr. Loraine and Dr. Gadepalli will bring this up to me tomorrow even if I don't. Please, it's not your business. I'd like to be alone."

"Who with?" asked Helen, laughing as she walked away.

"Who was that?" asked Ginger.

"Another patient," whispered June. "She's crazy. I should tell you, so am I." June, turned toward the window.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Ginger closing her eyes, shaking her head.

"So, I can see you, and . . . maybe your sister can see you, too. I saw her talking to you. And tomorrow they'll load me up with enough anti-psychotics to blind me."

"Ah, fuck!" said Ginger.

"I'm kidding." whispered June, who turned slightly from the window and tried to put on a smile, but she was out of practice. "Sort of. What do you want from me?"

"You've gotta help get my sister outta here."

"What makes you think I can do anything like that, Ginger?"

"I don't. But you're the only other person able to see me."

"At least your expectations aren't too high. Why do you think people can't see you?"

"Because I must have died."

June chuckled a little. "So says Bobby."

"What, who?"

"Never mind," whispered June. "You must have died? You don't know?"

"No, I don't know for sure. That's just it. She thinks I'm her hallucination."

"I think you're _my _hallucination," said June.

"Oh, come on, please, don't play me like that," said Ginger.

"You may just be a ghost. I need to meet your sister to find out. I want to be there and hear her talk to you." June said.

"Good . . ."

"I'll tell you the truth, though," June said, continuing to whisper, "she scares the shit out of me. What would put me in her favor quick?"

Ginger indicated a refrigerator in the corner of the room. "She's starving. I mean, really, she is. She hasn't eaten in five days."

"Whhoo . . . well, we're about to eat, but I guess I could do appetizers with her."

June went to the refrigerator as Ginger said, "They don't have any meat in there, do they?"

"What?" June said, laughing.

June grabbed some flimsy plastic-ware, put it in her pocket and then grabbed as many cups of yogurt as she can hold.

"Now Ginger, talk _only to her_, not to me. Try to get her to answer you, and don't give her any hint that I can see you."

Ginger nodded. June saw Mandy writing something on the clipboard and clammed up.

Brigitte sulked. TV here sucked. It was some old soap opera of the sort that she never watched, and wondered why other girls did. It was impossible to otherwise distract herself from her hunger or cramps. Her glance at the other girls in the room told her that almost all were in their late teens. Unlike what she experienced in high school, which was a hormonal toilet, none of them were dressed to catch anybody's eye. Their smells were plain, no perfume or artificial scents. So much like grade school, but there were a few new smells she was noticing. The worse thing: she could vaguely smell some kind of food that made her digestive acids try to eat her stomach, but couldn't smell dinner coming yet.

"Hey," said a voice. Brigitte looked to her left to see a strikingly short girl, her hair was a little past shoulder length, shiny gold-brown and disheveled. She was dressed in an oversized shirt. "I'm June, and you're, Brigitte?"

"Yes . . . ?"

"Glad to meet you," she said, extended her hand. Brigitte wouldn't take it. "Oh, everybody knows your name. Your arrival got everyone's attention."

Brigitte noticed that June trembled. She smelled of fear, too. As if noticing, June continued: "I'm just another patient here, and I have a little social anxiety."

As June said that, Brigitte had noticed the food, three cups of yogurt, had been set at the table ten feet away. With a charming smile, June gestured toward it. "You look hungry. Do you want to have some pre-dinner snacks?" Now that June had mentioned food, the thought of Brigitte getting something, anything on her stomach was irresistible.

"Yeah," Brigitte blurted out.

"Let's eat then."

Brigitte got up to see that the Ginger-thing was standing directly behind the chair. It followed them to the table. When Brigitte sat down, it sat right next to her. It couldn't pull the chair out to sit, but just sat as if on some kind of invisible chair again. Brigitte, without any decorum, tore open the yogurt cup and began to rapidly scoop it with the spoon. She was finished in barely a moment. June offered her the extra one, Brigitte took it, same thing, while June watched uneasily.

June was dealing with the intensified sensory syntheses that could not make sense of Brigitte. Wrong hue to Brigitte? No. Wrong sound emanating from her? No? Bad smell? No. The spiral only got worse at close range. This girl was weird, no, had something fractally weird about her. It was both perplexing and alarming. Did anybody else "see" this? June looked around the room. Apparently they didn't.

Brigitte was done with the second cup.

"Here, you could have mine," said June, trying to put on her most appealing smile. "I'm not really hungry, and we're about to have dinner anyway."

Something about the June's look bothered Brigitte. She took the cup and opened it eating in a slower more, decorous manner. "Fucking bitch, Laura, didn't even tell me there was a refrigerator in here."

"It has snacks like yogurt, fruit and ice milk in it," June answered. "That's it. They do have some fresh fruit, too. I think I saw an apple over there you could snack on, and breakfast cereal. What did they do, starve you?"

The look in Brigitte's eyes was wretched. "I haven't eaten in five days and all these fuckers will give me is broth."

"Five days!" said June. "Why did you starve yourself?"

"I didn't," said Brigitte, defensively. "I was unconscious in the hospital. I woke up here and they told me about it."

June was shocked by that: "No wonder you freaked out when you woke up. That's fucking awful."

Momentarily June thought of how questionable it was to transfer somebody to a psych hospital when they hadn't even regained consciousness.

Brigitte was taken aback by the sympathy. "Well, this Dr. Gadfly told me I've been committed."

June laughed nervously. "Gadfly! A good one! Talk to the social worker when he visits."

"When is he here?" asked Brigitte.

"I don't know, but I'll find out."

"Thank you so much!" June was stunned to see the unexpected level gratitude in Brigitte's eyes, like Brigitte expected absolutely nothing from anybody, but was so appreciative of even the smallest favor.

"So, what about your parents, aren't they going to help you?"

Brigitte shook her head: "I'm on my own."

Ginger said: "No, you're not."

Brigitte looked to her side directly at Ginger with annoyance.

"Oh, why?" said June.

"I can't contact them," said Brigitte.

"They won't help yo-?"

"They can't."

"Bee, why have you never told me what happened to Pamela, even?" asked Ginger.

Again, Brigitte looked at Ginger with annoyance but didn't say anything.

"Can't they come out here to help you out?" asked June.

"No, the further away from me, the safer they are," said Brigitte. She looked lonely and weary then. "I don't want to talk anymore about it."

"I'm sorry, Brigitte. I'm not trying to pry into anything about you. I'm just trying to make conversation. A place like this is really boring. The main topic of conversation gets to be what new meds the doctor has you on."

"Well, people here are going to have a lot more to talk about if I don't get out."

June could hear a warning but not really a threat in the tone.

In an absent moment, Brigitte straightened her fingers on her right hand. She covered them back up immediately, but June had already seen them, and hoped that she didn't give away that she had. Previous glances at Ginger's hands showed her what Brigitte's fingers would look like if the nails hadn't been hacked away, not deformed, but not passably human either.

"I hope you get out, too," said June.

"Thank you," Brigitte answered.

"Why were you unconscious for five days?"

"I took an overdose and they found me on the street passed out with a case of severe freezing-my-ass-off syndrome."

"Overdose?" To June, Brigitte did not seem to be the party drug type. Indeed, she was impressed by Brigitte's soberness. "On what? Smack, coke, pills?"

Brigitte snickered, June had poked her pride. "No, nothing like that. I don't take drugs for fun."

As if sensing this as an opportunity Ginger said, "But you have taken those, to try to fight the curse . . . "

"Shut up," said Brigitte, without looking at Ginger.

"I wasn't saying anything," June said.

"Oh, sorry, not you," said Brigitte, "I was lost in thought."

This told June a lot. "Yes, everybody here gets like that sometimes. Well, they're damn late on dinner. By the way, do you have any brothers or sisters, Brigitte?"

"I had a sister, she's dead," said Brigitte, her eyes in despair. "Why?"

"I'm sorry. Just curious. I'm the youngest child. I have two brothers and a sister. Would you believe that none have visited me since I've been in? For a solid two months? Little miss perfect had a meltdown, and they can't deal with it."

"Yeah, that's bad," said Brigitte, like it wasn't the worst.

"But not nearly as bad as some things," said June. "Well, I have to get into my dinner gown. I'll be right back when dinner's here."

"Okay," said Brigitte. "If they serve me broth, you might not want to show up, June."

June got up. "Oh, if you need any, you could get some apples over there, remember."

June left the lounge, hurriedly. When Brigitte looked to her other side, the Ginger-apparition was gone, too. During this conversation, Brigitte could not help but smell how frightened June was of her. Maybe she has social anxiety, but why had June looked at her _that way?_

For all June's dread, she realized that she both liked and felt pity for Brigitte, who was bereaved and couldn't recover, who felt so hopeless that she treated her sister's ghost as unreal. She kept herself alone and felt some kind of danger _with_ her, an assessment June somehow agreed with. June needed to know why. By the time she had walked down the hall and closed the door to her room, she was out of breath and her heart was pounding.

And Ginger was there.

"Well?" asked Ginger.

"Leave me alone for a minute, will you?"

June went to the bathroom. Like Brigitte's room, the bathroom had no door. Ginger merely turned her back to June.

"Please . . . leave for a second," said June.

"I can't," said Ginger. "I can't go out of your presence."

"What? How and when did that happen?"

"I don't know how. It happened when you left Brigitte's presence and I followed you," said Ginger. "It looks like I can stay with either of you but I can't stay alone, and I can't stay with anyone else . . . that I know of."

"Can't you try?"

"Trust me, please, I can't go out of your presence."

June could not practically hold it any longer. She said, "I'd rather you not listen!"

"Fuck!" Not able to put her fingers in her ears, Ginger put her hands over her ears.

For Ginger, this was the first time since she had reawakened that she had been alone with anyone but Brigitte, and it felt like a miracle. She did not see any hope of things getting better for her, but June's abilities gave Ginger a small hope for her sister.

June finished. She came out with a towel, and took her shirt off. That shirt had been over-sized on her. Momentarily fazed, Ginger saw June was "blessed."

_ Poor girl. How could someone so tiny make the boys keep their fucking hands off THOSE?_

Sadly, Ginger thought, _she couldn't. _

June pretended not to be annoyed at Ginger's jaw-drop, but said, "Ginger, if you can turn back around."

"What the fuck? You think I'm bi?"

"No, but I'm shy. Turn- around."

Ginger obeyed. "Makes no fucking sense," she muttered.

"Thank you," said June. Who then removed her bra, patted herself dry, and put on a new bra and shirt.

"Okay, you can turn around again."

June continued, "First, I don't know if you'd find this good news, but you're a ghost."

"Fuckin', ayyyy!" said Ginger, in a sour manner, which made June almost chuckle. The purple pull-over shirt June had changed into was also over-sized.

_ She's trying to hide them- wisely._

"So, what am I, then?" asked June. "I can see the dead and other stuff, and that would be why I'm still seeing Bobby around here, even with all the meds."

"Who the fuck is Bobby?" asked Ginger.

"Another ghost," said June. "This place is very old and haunted, and I've been seeing him since I arrived. I thought he was just another psychotic symptom, too, but he didn't go away when the meds took effect. I must be a medium of some sort, but psychotic, too."

_ Like a figure skater who can't take off her skates, _thought June.

June turned the shirt she took off inside out and laid it flat on the night stand, and put the bra on top of it. Ginger sat on the bed, and seemed to have no weight. June was glad Ginger was not continuing to gawk at her.

June wondered if her psychotic symptoms had merely taken up a different theme. In her prior break, the delusions and hallucinations did get to the point where she could not disbelieve them. The same thing could be happening here, despite all her efforts to test and find out. _I really should talk to Dr. Loraine about this._

"Can you talk to my sister, please, and tell her you can see me?" asked Ginger.

"What is she, Ginger?"

Ginger paused, her face registered distress.

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," said June. "I'm thinking ghosts never hang around anything normal. Why does she scare the shit out of me? What am I looking at?"

"Brigitte is, well, really just a super person. You'd love her, she just picked up this problem . . ."

"This problem? Out there you called it 'the curse.'" said June. "Your hands are like hers, but you have fangs. So, did you have the problem, too? Is it genetic? Or like a family curse?"

"No, she sort of got it from me," said Ginger, shamefully. "She has been fighting against this for two years. And . . . she's begun to lose."

"And what is the problem, Ginger?"

"I'm afraid you won't believe it if I told you. I didn't believe it either."

"Ginger, I'm talking to a fucking ghost right now! I dare you to say something I can't believe."

"Werewolf," said Ginger.

That stopped June. Her face didn't register anything with Ginger who went on: "It sounds fuckin' retarded when I say it out loud. But it's no joke. I'm dead serious."

June sighed. "Well, I'll never dare one of my hallucinations to do anything again. Maybe Dr. Loraine will switch me to Seroquel or Thorazine tomorrow, or Prolixin . . ."

"No, no, please listen to me . . ." said Ginger, begging.

* * *

Finished talking to Ginger, June came back to the lounge right as dinner arrived. She stood at the door watching the tech handing out the trays from a tall cafeteria cart. Ginger still remained with her. The meals were personalized for each patient. "Lana . . . Suzanne . . ." called the tech. June hoped to have dinner with Brigitte while basically guarding her from others and vice-versa; she knew now what a danger Brigitte posed to everyone here.

The tech called Brigitte, and but immediately as Brigitte received her tray, June saw her posture tense. Not even removing the plastic dome on her food she yelled: "Fuckin' broth again?"

She threw her tray into the wall. Everybody in the lunchroom froze. Brigitte doubled over, and made a frightful growl. Maybe she doubled over to make it seem like her stomach growled, but to June, it sounded distinctly like an animal. Brigitte tensed, looking like her body both generated and restrained a furious tsunami. June's confused senses spun faster seeing it. "Fuck this! Fuck all of you. I'm waiting it out in my room!"

As she left, she yelled to Laura, who was by June: "Talk to the doctor? You stupid, lying bitch!"

Brigitte stormed past June who was happy to see her out of the crowd. She realized that Brigitte had also blown her cover. Nobody was going to believe she was tranquilized now. Though as Ginger had explained to June, that probably wouldn't matter anyway.


	5. Starved Beast

**Chapter 5:**

STARVED BEAST**  
**

Once in the room, Brigitte spent an unknown time pacing. Starving, and in pain, she thought only about biting into live flesh, tasting warm blood, and having meat fill her stomach. She could not think of how to kill in this place and get away with it, but if only some animal were around to distract her from the possibility of cannibalism, a dog, anything. This would not be a thrill kill. _No,_ _I'm not like Ginger._ This would be killing for food, her absolute right. She went to the window and looked for a way to escape.

The window was divided into tiny square panes within an iron framework, with a sheet of thick plastic over the whole unit. She quickly knew there was no escape through it. Even if she could get the plastic off, it would be impossible to get through the sturdy, metal framework. In frustration, she pounded on the plastic.

She heard a knock, and something came in. She recognized it by smell, and only as prey.

"Brigitte," said Laura, "I'm sorry, it was too late to change your meal tonight."

Laura could see that Brigitte looked pale, agitated and sweaty. Her blue-green eyes were intense but her face was blank. _Flat aspect?_ Brigitte was dressed in a Spongebob Squarepants sweatshirt and jeans, and was six inches shorter than Laura, who was tall and athletic, and had no inkling she might be in danger. As Brigitte prowled around the bed toward her, to Laura, Brigitte was only trying to intimidate her with an unblinking stare, which Laura would note in her chart. Brigitte had been pounding on the window, too; that also needed to be noted.

Meanwhile, Brigitte did not understand anything it said, and only wondered if she could take it down quietly enough, and eat enough of it before somebody noticed. The likely aftermath of this scheme did not even occur to her. She could smell that it had no fear and was unprepared to fight. She'd have surprise. Its neck had the small, fascinating wiggle where the blood pulsed. Her teeth could open it easily. She remembered, though, her claws were chewed down. She flicked her fingers to see if they had grown back. They hadn't. _Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

The disappointment broke her out of the fugue state, and Brigitte began to think again, with difficulty. She sat down on the bed, recalling what Laura had just said.

Brigitte said: "I . . . fucking needed real food tonight, bitch."

"I'm sorry." said Laura, sounding annoyed. "We'll do better tomorrow. I'm leaving you a meal selection ticket. There are different options for your meals on the menu. Leave the ticket at the nurse's station. There are pencils up there you can use." Laura handed the ticket to Brigitte, who simply let it fall.

Brigitte yelled: "Tomorrow might be too fucking late!"

"Well, there are snacks in the lounge," and then Laura left.

Not before Brigitte yelled: "Fuck you, bitch!"

Snacks? As June had suggested, Brigitte already had eaten three apples by the time "dinner" had arrived. Fruit and liquid were futile against her five days of hunger, especially when her body was undergoing change and demanding more. She craved dense protein: meat. Absolutely nothing else would do it.

She tried uselessly to relax and took her hospital-issue shoes off, undoing the Velcro with her trembling hands. She found that her toenails had shredded her socks and tore up the inside of her shoes. Her toenails had grown long, and were looking as animalistic as her fingernails had. To her distress, a claw was growing out of her right ankle. A hind-claw.

_No, those have got to go!_

Without even another thought about it, Brigitte lay down on her back, popped her right hip out of joint, raised her ankle to her teeth and bit off the hind-claw. It bled.

_Fuck that hurt!_

She began to bite her toenails off. A few of them she bit to the quick, but her own blood tasted flat. A bit too lazy to put her right leg back in joint, she popped the other one out and began to bite its nails off, too. The stretching on her back and abs actually gave some relief from the cramping. In the middle of this, she saw something move in the corner of her eye.

"Fuck, Bee!" said Ginger-thing standing now five feet from the bed, incredulous. "This is a funny way of fighting it!"

Brigitte flipped it off.

A knock at the door startled Brigitte back to reality. _Shit! I'm being weird again. _Perturbed she said, "Wha- Who the fuck is it?"

As she swiftly popped one then the other leg back into joint, a smell hit Brigitte like a miracle. Food! Chicken!

The Ginger illusion said, "It's June."

Whoever they were brought salvation. Brigitte excitedly opened the door, it _was_ June. She carried a pile of linens, but something with a tasty scent lay hidden inside of them.

"Brigitte, let me in before they see me," she whispered. Brigitte let her in. "Close the door quick!"

June experienced the same distressing sensory agitation she had previously suffered with Brigitte. Worse, there was a frightful odor in here: menstrual blood. It exuded from Brigitte. Despite these perceptions, June went to the bed and put the pile down.

She said, "I didn't want my food, and I took up sort of a collection, knowing you were so hungry . . . " Actually, she also stole some and scavenged, too, doing the latter after Ginger assured her it wouldn't matter at this point.

If Brigitte had even heard June, she did not respond. June unwrapped the linens, to reveal a tray with three covered plates on it. With blinding speed, Brigitte had taken the cover off of one. She grabbed a piece of baked chicken and bit into it, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her teeth snapped right through the bones. The noise went up June's spine, and if she hadn't attended to it beforehand, she would have wet herself right there. To her bewilderment, Brigitte chewed, jarringly snapping and crunching bones as though they were potato chips. She took a second bite, _snap-crunch_ and continued to chew bones loudly, while grunting and groaning, as June backed away. Brigitte took a third bite. By then, June began to recover, though she had a cold sweat.

_This is going to be rough, _thought June, as she looked for the chair and saw it but couldn't make herself sit yet. What she watched both appalled and fascinated her.

Brigitte then barely looked up and said a muffled, "Thanks!" as food conspicuously fell out of her mouth.

She caught it without looking, put it back in her mouth, and continuing to eat standing up with bones crunching until she had completely devoured the piece. Then, heedless of June's presence, Brigitte got on the bed on all fours and put her face into the plate, still using her hands to keep the food from sliding, but putting her snout in the food and attacking it like a canine. She continued to crush the bones with her teeth. At this time, Brigitte could think of nothing but getting food into her stomach as fast as possible. So totally absorbed in eating now, she had no perception of how it looked and only the slightest consciousness of anybody else's presence.

After a few minutes, during which June fought nausea, Brigitte's demeanor suddenly changed. She got off of all fours, sat back at the head of the bed, put the tray on her lap, but continued to eat meat and crunch bones. She had food in her dark brown hair and still paid no attention to June, who spotted bloody toe prints on the floor. June then observed Brigitte's bloody, lupine toes, which Brigitte, absorbed in eating, had forgotten to hide. They were even less human-like than Brigitte's fingers

_Werewolf_.

It didn't follow the legends, but June had no doubt now. Her inexplicable dread when she first set eyes on Brigitte had been grimly accurate, proof again of her own second sight. June also realized now that anything that appeared normal about Brigitte was totally superficial. She could hardly pass for human in this state.

June looked at Ginger, who mouthed the words, "Please, don't go."

June mouthed back: "I'm not." June surprised herself. Leaving hadn't even occurred to her, yet.

Ginger, looking relieved, went over and "took a seat" next to the bed. It looked so strange when she sat levitating chair-less. Bobby never did any such thing. _Maybe two different species of ghosts? One haunting a building, the other a person? _June finally pulled the chair to the foot of the bed on the side nearest the door, just in case. She noticed Brigitte's shredded socks on the floor, and continued to watch Brigitte in a mixture of pity, fear and fascination. She knew that there would be no escape from her in this hospital. This was a matter of life and death, but what could she do about it? Tell the staff? Sane people are too proud to believe any of it, just as she would have been too proud. The doctors would over-medicate _her_ rather than do anything about Brigitte.

_Nobody believes a crazy woman. _

Brigitte continued to eat. Snap, crunch, crackle.

Best case scenario, when they finally realize Brigitte is dangerous, they will lock her in one of the rooms until she changes completely. _That might be a last resort._ Would she change back then? June did not know. If not, they would have to shoot her. She felt pity for Brigitte. Three months ago, June would have felt no such thing. That was when June could have had as much popularity as she wanted. She had been terribly humbled since and had been living with other humbled people. June could not stand the fact that Brigitte was going through this because she had tried to save her sister, the ultimate unfairness, which June felt had to be fought.

She glanced at Ginger, who looked bleached and transparent. Ginger had been visible for far longer than Bobby ever had, and June wondered if Ginger was getting exhausted. Do ghosts get tired?

In fact, Ginger was at exhaustion and barely held on. She could tell because her _limbs_ felt numb, and she was feeling the _creeping coldness_ although she could not shiver, like being in a bath where the temperature of the water grew slowly colder. If she closed her eyes for more than a few seconds now, she might be in _coldsleep_ again. After that, hours or days could pass before she found herself with Brigitte again. She needed to be here for just a little while longer until June resolved this.

Brigitte's disintegration today shocked Ginger. She had been so afraid that June would abandon them after what she just saw. _This chick rocks! _Maybe feeding Brigitte would bring her sister back and make her hold on for a while longer. Ginger wanted Brigitte to believe she still existed. She _was_ Ginger. She remembered everything about their lives.

_Not quite everything,_ she thought.

Brigitte had completely finished with the first plate, and was midway through the second, when she looked up. She had food on her nose and around her mouth, but she had become a different person, or perhaps, more like a person again. She began to lick her hand like a dog, but then stopped herself. With a belch she then said timidly, "Excuse me . . . please."

She took the tray off her lap, got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to wash her face. She came out, her face clean, and the food out of her hair, and continued eating in a much more civilized manner. June relaxed a little. So did Ginger.

"Did I say thank you?" asked Brigitte, softly.

"Yes, you did," said June.

"Glad I did. And thank you again!" said Brigitte. "I think you saved a life."

_A life?_ "I . . . take it I probably did," said June.

That caused Brigitte to pause, and then start to eat again. "Why did you do it?" asked Brigitte, taking a bite, without bones breaking.

"Let's just say I didn't like what hunger was doing to you," said June.

Brigitte paused to consider this, took another bite of the chicken. She was eating without crunching the bones at all now. "Yeah, like Jekyll and Hyde."

Ginger gave a sick laugh: "Wrong horror story, Bee."

Brigitte actually smiled a little at what Ginger said. The grouchiness that she showed toward her "hallucination" before was not even there now. June wondered now if Brigitte even remembered exactly how she how she acted at the beginning of this meal.

Brigitte gestured with the piece of chicken toward June: "You don't seem like you belong here. You seem too sane, and you're not brain-dead like the fucking people running this place. Why are you in here?"

"I have bipolar disorder," said June.

"What's that?"

"It's when you have really high, giddy moods called manics, alternating with extremely low depressions. It had its onset with me a little over three months ago."

"Is there a cure?" asked Brigitte.

"No, you have to take medications your entire life, if you're lucky enough to respond to them."

"And your family won't talk to you because of that? That's so fucking cold!"

"Well, it's more complicated than that. It's what I did when I was manic."

"Like what?" asked Brigitte taking another bite.

"I bit my father's thumb, broke it, and gave him twenty stitches."

That stopped Brigitte from chewing.

June went on: "And I dislocated my mother's knee."

Brigitte put down the piece of chicken.

"Oh, and I tried to stab my sister with a butcher knife."

Brigitte choked and thought, _Is this some kind of trick?_ Ginger's mouth dropped open.

"I don't even remember doing the first two. On the third one, I thought my sister Angie was a terrorist and she would suicide bomb the whole neighborhood if I didn't kill her quick," said June.

Brigitte and Ginger were both speechless.

"Fuck . . ." was all Brigitte could say.

"Fuck, yeah, those are pretty outrageous, but those weren't even the worse things that I did. I don't really blame my family for throwing me out of the house. I'm just really happy they're not pressing charges."

"Why did you believe, your sister was a terrorist?" said Brigitte.

"Because the sickness changes what you see and hear, and at the same time it changes how you think," said June. "When I hallucinated, it all seemed absolutely real. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I know Angie doesn't believe me. She thinks I'm hiding the real reason."

"You're not crazy now," said Brigitte.

"No, I'm not. Like Jekyll and Hyde," she said. "The drugs do miracles for some people, and I'm lucky to be one of them." She added sadly, "The only thing they can't do is give me my life back."

Brigitte belched, and then picked up on eating again. She looked at this tiny girl in the over-sized, purple sweatshirt, with brown-gold hair and black-rimmed glasses. _Those things have got to be a joke. _June had her hands under her sweatshirt clasped in front of her. Brigitte had taken June for a fourteen-year-old. No, she must be older. More puzzling, she could smell fear on June, more now than before, and it wasn't social anxiety. _Now she_ _collects food and feeds me again?_

Brigitte thought, if June is this terrified, and she's is still in this room, what does she want?

"How old are you, June?"

June could hear the suspicion, and it alarmed her, she took her arms out from under her shirt and crossed them in front of her. Brigitte could see her hands tremble.

"I'm almost eighteen," June said.

Brigitte was amazed. _Almost eighteen? _

"Can't believe it, can you?" asked June, reading Brigitte's expression. "Look like I'm fourteen, right?"

"Yes, except . . . "

"Except for what?"

"You act too mature for that age."

"Not except for my boobs?"

At first that shocked Brigitte, then it made her laugh. "No!"

"No?" asked June.

"I hadn't noticed."

"You're one of the few, then. It's aggravating how I can pass for any age between thirteen and twenty-one depending on the shirt I wear that day."

"I swear, I did not notice," said Brigitte laughing. In fact she hadn't.

June was happy to have actually made Brigitte laugh. Now there was some rapport between them and maybe an opening.

Meanwhile, Ginger gave June an urgent look. She was getting impatient and hoped now that there was some connection with Brigitte, that June would get down to business. June caught the look. Maybe Ginger was getting exhausted. June would have to plunge forward, or perhaps lose the chance to ever make her point. "Have you ever seen a ghost, Brigitte?"

The question alarmed Brigitte again. First she hears that June tried to stab her sister with a steak knife, and now she drops this creepy question. "I've seen worse. Why?"

Ginger gave a bitter laugh. "Let's evade the question, Bee, with the ghost in the room."

"Oh?" said June, and paused to see if Brigitte would explain.

Brigitte didn't. Instead asked back, "Are you afraid of me, June?"

June answered quickly, "Yes, frankly, you scare the shit outta me, Brigitte."

June decided to take the offensive, talking fast and getting faster as she spoke: "Let me tell you why, but it will seem like a tangent at first? Till two hours ago, I thought I saw things only because I was crazy. But now, I think maybe it isn't the only reason. Maybe it's not all, like, my imagination."

June knew she was shaking now, all over. She did not like Brigitte's stare.

So, she continued even faster: "Now, believe me its hard because I don't really trust myself to know anymore. But I've seen a ghost here. This place is haunted. And-but I really can't disbelieve anything that I've seen these last two hours. Every way I've tried to disprove it actually proves it. You said your sister is dead?"

"Yes," said Brigitte, utterly amazed at the change in June, who had gone from keeping a lid on her fear to shaking apart within ten seconds.

"She had red hair, right?"

There was no response from Brigitte.

"Am I right?"

Brigitte still didn't respond, except to look even more suspicious.

"You know I'm right, and she died two years ago in Bailey Downs and I'm right again twice," said June, "You see, as soon as I saw you, Brigitte, something about you scared the shit outta me. I didn't know what it was, till Ginger told me that you had picked up this problem. Werewolf! I mean being a werewolf, lycanthropy. "

June stood up, ready to flee if necessary. Ginger was now also standing, stunned, and was watching both Brigitte and June.

"Hi, Ginger," said June.

"You're not subtle, are you?" said Ginger.

"Fuck subtlety in the ass!" said June giggling almost hysterical. "Hello, Ginger!"

"Hi, June!" answered Ginger.

Brigitte's face was red, she got up, the tray and dishes that had been on her lap fell on the floor. To June's relief, that was on the opposite side of the bed from where she was standing. Brigitte looked like she was seething, but she was walking away from them toward the window. Instead of the window, then, Brigitte went to the corner and kept her face toward it. Her hands were at her sides trembling.

June spoke quickly: "Brigitte, I can see Ginger. She's a ghost. She's as real to me as she is to you. You should treat her like your sister again I know what you're struggling with, and I want to help."

Brigitte's shoulders were tight. June was holding her breath. To her relief, when Brigitte turned, the anger she showed was all human.

"Help? You don't even know what the fuck you're doing! You can't fucking be seeing her, you delusional bitch. She's _my_ hallucination."

"Quit insulting me now, Bee. I'm a ghost," said Ginger.

June interjected: "Ginger said quit insulting her now, Bee, she's a ghost.".

"What kind of trick is this?" asked Brigitte.

"It's not a trick; she's a medium," said Ginger. "In the lounge she looked me right in the eye, nobody has ever done that since . . ."

"Shut up, you fucking freak!" screamed Brigitte.

"Freak?" Ginger laughed, "Who's the freak? You just had your legs popped out of joint so you could chew your fucking wolf-claws off . . . and clean your feet!"

Brigitte felt a kind of deep embarrassment she hadn't felt since her last weeks in high school. "I did not!"

"You're lying, Bee. Yes you did!"

"You did the same thing!"

"I did not!"

"Ewww. You can pop your legs out of joint?" asked June. She intended only to interrupt this odd sisterly argument and somehow get back in the conversation.

Brigitte's eyes narrowed on her, but there was nothing wolfish about her stare.

"You want to see it?" Brigitte asked.

June had no choice as Brigitte shifted her weight to her left leg. With a popping and squishing even grosser than the chicken bones getting chewed, she swiftly turned her right leg completely backward. She bent her knee and brought the sole of her foot up to her chest.

June wanted to throw up, or faint. She didn't know which might happen first if she didn't get out of here. Then Brigitte straightened her leg and snapped it back with a loud pop.

"Now, please excuse yourself before you shit your pants. I have talk to my sister. Alone."

"Yeah," said June, feeling dazed and giddy now. "Ginger, let's talk- later!"

"Sure," said Ginger, to the swiftly closing door.

"Ginger, did you blab it all to her?" asked Brigitte.

For Ginger, feeling this horribly numb was worth hearing Brigitte call her "sister" and then by her name- first time for both.

"Bee, you're a smart chick. Think about it. I can't be your fucking brain-fart if you both see me."

"You blabbed it all to her just to prove to me you're a ghost?"

"No, Bee, she wants to help. She could help us."

"Help us? She's ready to piss herself every time she comes around me. I couldn't help you, and I'm like this because I tried. What can she do?" Brigitte sat on the bed. Looking down, she shook her head saying, "Ginger, this is exactly what I didn't want!"

"Bee, you don't mean you wanted to be abandoned. Nobody wants that."

"I already felt abandoned," said Brigitte. "It was just a matter of keeping myself away afterward, because I'm diseased and contagious, and fucking dangerous."

"Why did you feel abandoned?" ask Ginger. Brigitte said nothing.

So Ginger continued, "Well, now that you're not anymore. I know she can help us, Bee. The girl has . . . special abilities. She's the first person besides you who could see me and who I could talk to. I could even stay in her presence without you. I figure there has to be a reason for all that. That's why I told her. Besides, Bee, we're fucking desperate, both of us."

Brigitte looked up at her sister. It was horrible when Brigitte thought of what she had done to her, of the loneliness she inflicted on both of them. "Ginger, it _is_ you. I'm so sorry."

Ginger was so cold. She was having difficulty speaking now. "I- accept your apology, Bee, but- I don't understand why you did it."

Neither did Brigitte understand. She stood and walked up close to Ginger, and gazed at her. She knew how Ginger, the ghost, could not stand to be touched.

Brigitte she raised her right hand. "Together forever? Again?"

Reluctantly, Ginger raised her palm, keeping it flat, but she wouldn't put it forward to touch Brigitte's hand. Brigitte straightened hers. Ginger carefully moved her palm against Brigitte's. Momentarily, Brigitte could swear that something solid touched it, but just as quickly, Ginger's palm gave way and passed right through Brigitte's.

Ginger recoiled, her eyes opened wide and she cried out, "Bee! I'm freezing . . !"

She dissolved away. Her last expression had been panicked.

"Ginger?"

Brigitte was stunned and afraid that she might not see Ginger again. Maybe the touch, or the oath had broken some kind of spell?

"Fuck!" said Brigitte now alone. She stepped back and sat on the bed. She was so worried Ginger would not be back, but realized it was a miracle that she had even been here with her. It gave her hope. She had not felt that in so long.

There was a knock at the door. Brigitte saw the curtain go up and down to show Laura, again, who then came in followed by two large, male medical techs.

"We heard some dishes being dropped, so we've been looking through the rooms." said Laura.

There was obviously no denying it with the dishes upended all over the floor, but Brigitte decided to give it a try anyway.

"Dishes?" said Brigitte, as innocently as she could.

It was fun to pretend she was fifteen for a moment.


	6. Uncovered

**Chapter 6:**

UNCOVERED**  
**

On the very night June met the Fitzgerald sisters, far to the southeast, near the University of Toronto, Lewis met with "the team" to explain Michael's death. He called them "the team," but they resembled more a schoolyard team rather than anything formal. Professor emeritus Hiram Caskeys owned the team's "ball," meaning, he paid for everything the team did, including, most importantly, Lewis' investigations. Long ago, Hiram had inherited part of the family's vast importing fortune. As a retired professor of astronomy representing the academic side of the Caskeys family, he had an austere streak. As a result, the house they sat in was merely large, not a mansion, but not because he couldn't afford one.

Dinner had been served, eaten and cleared and the actual "meeting" had started. Now, the table had books, papers and four laptop computers on it. Everyone had drinks. Hiram sat at one end, his life-partner, professor emeritus Thomas Brindley to his left. Thomas stood and wrung his hands nervously, as usual, holding a pencil, also as usual. Lewis sat at the other end. Hiram and Thomas had been spouses for longer than Lewis had been alive. Together, the two of them had inadvertently "discovered" werewolves, and part of the cause of it, almost three years before. They guarded it as a secret; they knew revealing it at this point would ruin the credibility and reputations they had both built in separate fields over more than fifty years.

The two others at the table, Ben and Wade, sat on either side. They, along with two other members not present, all knew what Hiram and Thomas had discovered almost three years before and had sworn to keep the secret. The only non-academic left in "the team," Lewis had originally been lured into it, tricked into taking a case that showed him in no uncertain terms that werewolves existed, a case which almost got him killed.

The woodwork and furniture were expensive and well-kept, with books and bookshelves the main décor, as one would expect with an academic's house. The study would have been more comfortable for a meeting like this, but Thomas had long taken it over with his own work, so it was sacrosanct.

"What mistake killed Michael?" asked Thomas. He tapped his hip with the pencil, which seemed to be the sole reason he always held it.

Everyone looked at Lewis. He usually had no problem being looked at. He had early on taught himself poise, a classic "stiff upper lip," which fit with his very British appearance. His looks usually did the rest. He had black hair, a somewhat pale complexion, brown eyes, was tall and broad shouldered. Recently his hairline had begun to recede and he had developed a few gray hairs. Not bad for his age, but under the stress of recent experiences, his poise had cracked. He actually felt nervous.

"My fatal mistake was believing there was only one. There were two, and two of them cooperating are five times more dangerous, but I told Michael to stay in the truck," he said.

Since the fiasco, Lewis had been in the hospital for four days, and he spent the three weeks afterward investigating the loose ends. The discovery he made with reversing the process seemed a poor consolation to what had been lost. He kept up his composure here but felt so beaten.

"How terrible for Michael!" said Hiram. "We're all surprised by the discovery you made. You said in your report that the counter-agent worked on her and brought her all the way back?"

"That's all in my report, as you said." There was an awkward silence.

Ben broke it with a blunt question. "How could you have just left them afterward?"

That triggered Lewis. He became irate. "What was I supposed to do, Ben, call the Mounties? Tell them we were attacked by werewolves? 'Yes, sir, this poor, naked woman has her head blown off with MY gun because she changed back and felt too guilty? Oh and sir, you'll understand her companion's body has been eaten away by the werewolf virus before you could get here. So, I have _no evidence!_' Is that what you wanted me to do?"

"It is better than just leaving their bodies in the woods," said Thomas.

This enraged Lewis: "Thomas, why don't _you _call the Federal Police, then, and tell them werewolves exist, but only sometimes, that it's a disease that pops up and spreads, but only in short, erratic, intervals every two or three centuries, when some invisible bodies orbiting the earth line up right . . ."

"Nonsense," said Hiram. "It has nothing to do with lining up, it's the rotational position of an asymmetric dark matter body, an AMEO . . ."

Still angry, Lewis continued, "Yes, Hiram, try telling _that_ to your colleagues in astronomy and what will your name be? Even your esteemed professor Macali, who did the work on dark matter, would put a continent between you! But go ahead. You're retired. You have nothing to lose but credibility for your whole life's work!"

"You've made your point, Lewis," said Hiram, his eyes unblinking.

"If I had called the police then, the story sounded like an incredibly incompetent excuse, not even an alibi. Remember, you hired me in the first place because _you _couldn't call the police, and you had to conceal things to get me to take the first assignment."

"But Lewis, you have have worked sixteen other cases with us since," said Hiram, "that shows you would have taken the first one if you could have believed us then. Why are you bringing this up now?"

"To point out the lengths you were willing to go to conceal what you discovered despite how serious it was. I understand why. No one outside a psychiatric hospital could believe any of this until they see it."

"Ben," said Hiram, "nobody should hold Lewis to blame over how he had to handle Michael's death. I think an apology is appropriate, here."

"I apologize," said Ben. "I spoke impulsively, Lewis." It was one of the few opinions Ben ever offered at a meeting, and Lewis suspected he said what everyone else actually thought.

"I'm sorry, Lewis," said Thomas, "but Michael's family is beside each other now."

"You mean beside themselves," said Hiram, in not-quite-a-whisper, reminding Thomas of how to speak his native tongue.

"Then, I apologize to you Thomas; I misunderstood," said Lewis. "Now, I suggest that we get our stories straight about Michael, and then I'll call in an anonymous tip."

"Good," said Thomas. "At least Michael's family will . . ."

Thomas couldn't think of how to complete the sentence.

Hiram did not wait and instead said to Lewis, "Yes, I think that is an excellent idea. I know losing Michael was as hard for you as it was for us."

_Yes, but that is only half of it._

Hiram continued, "We should immediately do it after we hear the new information that Wade has uncovered. What do you have for us Wade?"

A professor of information technology, Wade worked as a consultant for dozens of government agencies. Being in his forties made him the youngest man in this room except for Lewis. He had brown hair, but was almost bald, and unlike the others present, he dressed informally, in a shirt, slacks, and a sweater. He cleared his throat, stood up stiffly, and began giving out papers to everyone as he spoke. He handed them first to Hiram and Thomas, then to Ben, and lastly, to Lewis.

"Libraries in Manitoba Province have just consolidated their records into a central network," said Wade. "When the new network came up, I ran the usual names of the missing, and look at the hit I got! Was I surprised!"

Lewis glanced at a screen-print, a record of library books checked out by a person. He read the person's name given at the top. "Brigitte Fitzgerald?" said Lewis, in surprise. "The Bailey Downs Brigitte Fitzgerald?"

"That's what I haven't determined for sure," said Wade. "But look at what she has been reading!"

One look at the reading list, and Lewis knew it had to be her. "Medieval Superstitions and Alchemy," "Galen and Werewolves: Classical Doctors and Ancient Shape-changer Myths," and, especially worrisome to Lewis, "Bloodletting and other Treatments of the High Middle-Ages." All the books were along those lines, with themes of shape-shifter legends, medical lore, curing spells and exotic herbal treatments dominating the list.

"I had given up on her," said Lewis. "I presumed she wandered off to animalize like they usually do. After that happens, you just simply have to wait for an attack. "

"It might not be her," said Ben. "It's a common enough name."

"No, look at this reading list!" said Lewis. "My gut tells me this is her. Her last checkouts were in Dauphin, Manitoba, just five days ago. Dauphin," he added, "I happen to have an old army buddy on the police force there."

He thought about how intermediate-stage werewolves behaved within three weeks of being infected, cutting their ties to humanity, wandering off, living in wilderness or abandoned buildings, feeding on raw animal meat, occasionally committing sexual assaults or even murder, until the full moon brought about their "final" change. They always wandered off by the fourth week- at the latest. He had found them in shredded, bloody clothes or completely naked, hair wild, eyes inhuman, bodies half-changed, and living in cold that should freeze a person in seconds. Extremely dangerous and unstable, _intermediates_ were in some ways more dangerous than fully animalized werewolves. They could be totally reasonable and cooperative one second, and literally kill three people in the next, and, sometimes deceptively, they always had the physical ability to do it.

Brigitte's sister Ginger had been the sole exception; she did not wander off, just one detail that made the Bailey Downs Incident stand out to Lewis. It always surprised him that many more didn't die as a result. Now Ginger Fitzgerald's younger sister seemed exceptional as well, but in a different way. She had to be infected, but if so, why hadn't she changed after two years?

"If it's her, she must not be infected," said Hiram. "How could she be fighting it all this time?"

"No, I think she's infected," said Lewis, continuing to look at the library record. "I see desperation here."

Ben spoke again, "I'm wondering why she started to use her own name?"

"Maybe she became careless and thought it had all blown over," said Lewis. "It is, after all, only her library card."

"Well, how is she preventing the change, then?" Hiram asked.

Lewis stood up, lost in thought. "First," he said, "Let's see if there is any other evidence here that this is her. I see her age is right: she is seventeen."

"Yes," said Wade, "But her date of birth is wrong. The Bailey Downs Brigitte Fitzgerald was born September eighteenth."

Lewis began to pace; it came to him. "She was extremely close to her sister. Wade, check Ginger Fitzgerald's birthday."

Wade took out his phone and began thumbing into it. "Just a moment here . . . November twelfth."

"A direct hit!" said Lewis, looking at the sheet. He looked at Hiram and the rest, "It's her!"

"I agree, the chances are above 99 percent now," said Thomas, drumming his pencil against his wrist.

"How could she be stopping it?" said Hiram.

"For two years? Nobody else has done it," said Ben, "She can't be infected."

"Well, what reason did she have to run away, then?" asked Lewis "Especially with her mother facing murder charges, and when she had no one to run with?"

"Even if she isn't infected, think of what she could tell us about the Bailey Downs incident," said Thomas.

"I am more concerned that the poor, traumatized girl has possibly been fighting this alone for two years, and poisoning herself with monkshood, or worse," said Lewis.

Wade asked, "Why do you think it's monkshood?"

"You weren't with us yet, were you, Wade?" said Lewis. "Bailey Downs was a turning point, where we discovered monkshood and realized there might actually be treatments for werewolfism. It totally changed our approach. Of course, we've discovered better things now."

"We discovered monkshood from Samuel Bordell's notebook," said Hiram to Wade.

"He was found dead in the Fitzgerald house," said Lewis. "Brigitte's name was also in his notebook on the very same page gave us the tip about monkshood. . . Ben?"

"Yes?"

" Make another batch of counter-agent as soon as possible. Make the formulation a tiny bit stronger."

"Five doses of silver ion solution, then; I'll try to have it ready tomorrow," said Ben.

"And put at least one of them into an auto-injector, please," said Lewis.

"What are you going to do?" asked Thomas.

"With your permission, Hiram, I'm going to Dauphin to find Brigitte Fitzgerald and cure her if necessary," said Lewis. "It should be a simple enough case. She seems to have it somewhat under control herself, Wade?"

"Yes, Lewis?"

"Please do a search and find out if there has been anything going on in Dauphin. You know, the usual. Dog mutilations, people mutilations, and the like."

"All right, Lewis," said Wade.

"I'll come along this time!" Ben said.

"No," said Lewis, "No more amateurs. Michael got killed. I need somebody who could handle himself. I have a colleague in mind."

"A colleague?" said Hiram, shocked. "Is that going to cost more?"

"Ah, Lewis." said Ben, standing up. "Aren't you being too cautious? You said she seemed to have it under control and it was a simple case."

"All right, you can come out," said Lewis, "but . . . not until my colleague and I do the preliminary work to make sure there's no danger. I'm not going to walk one of you into a trap again."

Lewis stopped and took a sip of water now.

"Lewis," said Hiram, his eyes burning with annoyance. "You didn't ask me to approve of a second man on this case."

"But it's important that I begin to train somebody else immediately, because I'm resigning afterward."

Everyone was startled, of course.

"Why?" asked Hiram, incredulous.

"I was in the hospital for four days, and not for physical reasons," said Lewis, keeping his composure. "I think I am shell-shocked."

"Would it help if I raised your salary?" asked Hiram.

"No. After seeing Daphne and Michael die, I can't do this anymore. I was going to simply resign effective immediately, but Brigitte Fitzgerald has been suffering because of my error. It's a straightforward case, and I wish to close it up."

"I see," said Hiram. "You have my permission to bring a partner in."

"Good then," said Lewis.

"I am curious," said Hiram, "this partner, are you going to tell him everything when he starts?"

"Yes . . ." answered Lewis. "Well . . . eventually."


	7. The New Rules

**Chapter 7:**

THE NEW RULES**  
**

_June's thoughts raced beyond terrified, dancing like snowflakes in a frenzied blizzard. It's a manic, it must be a manic! _

_Why was she . . . ? She had a purpose. Brigitte! Must save her. Right? June held her weapon. Me? Fight that thing? _

_She moved silently, wrestling her breathe into quietness. Spirits rejoiced in bitter misery, ecstatic with new deaths in these old halls of anguish. The Templars buried all those bodies back there while ghost rejoiced around. Ghosts are insane. Werewolves are insane. Now, June was insane, again. _

_What's wrong with me? She bit me . . . am I changing? _

_It was too woolly-dark to walk in these halls, but June could see the spirits lit shadowlessly; she could hear them murmuring over the music, bad and playing playing forwards and backwards, was it in her head? Off rhythm. . . . One spirit led her. A wolf-spirit, Ginger . . . _

_Time slid in a funny way along the halls, forward. _

_"June, she's down there," said the wolf-spirit, it's eyes bright blue in the dark. It's hair like white crystal. _

_June walked on a floor full of broken glass; a door opened. Steps led down to the room beyond . . . _

_She looked down the stairs. Hell was at their bottom. June knew it. Dark flames licked up from there at her feet. She heard a man shouting, muffled below, understood only ". . . you are!"_

_"June, don't stop now, please!" the wolf spirit, her eyes blue-desperate. _

_"Don't go June!" said Bobby, and then vomited blood on her feet._

_"Don't go, honey-muff," said Helen, smiling like a skull, her neck bones showing._

_Flames touched June's feet again, and burned, sizzling the blood. She stomped . . . stomped on glass. _

_"June, do it, please . . . PLEASE!" said the wolf spirit, very unlike Ginger. _

_The red-eyed beast was in hell down the steps. All she had to fight it was . . . fight? I'm small, I don't have a chance. I'm crazy! Wait! She's having a manic. None of this is . . . can . . . _God please, _said a prayer, maybe hers,_ make my mind clear for just five minutes so I can do this!

_The music began to harmonize in her head . . . Beethoven 7th, 2nd movement. It brought tears to her eyes as always. Helen and Bobby disappeared. _

_"Duck!" the devil's voice shouted . . . _

_When a blast echoed up from hell . . . _

. . . and woke June, screaming. Her hands were numb, and she was in a cold sweat. She shook her hands to bring the feeling back, shivered, and stripped off her gown, throwing it on the floor. She threw the wet top sheet down as well, ran to the bathroom for towels and dried herself, shivering harder. Last night, it was about thirty below Celsius (-22 Fahrenheit) out there, and the cold seeped in every crack of this old building.

_And this is an old tuberculosis sanitarium?_

She guessed in a freezing climate, you made due with what you had. She took the other towel and put it over the wet bottom-sheet, and wrapped herself in the covers, sitting back down on the bed, trying to compose herself until her body warmed again. How she wished she had Keith, yes, even Keith, right now, somebody, anybody, just to hold her. Outside it was still dark, but June thought it couldn't be far from dawn. Since this had been her third nightmare, she looked forward to daybreak now.

Could this nightmare mean anything? It seemed even less coherent now than it did when she woke up. June was not equipped to interpret dreams; no, she was not prepared for any of this. Until yesterday, she had been an atheist, like dad. Spiritual things were as impossible to her then as seeing hallucinations had been three months before.

_The rules keep changing on me._

She was now warm to the point that she came out from the covers to put on a robe and slippers. Just as she stood completely naked, she saw a figure out of the corner of her eye.

"Please, do you MIND?" she shouted, outraged.

The figure was gone.

_Fucking Bobby!_

Maybe he was being polite. Maybe he went away when he saw she wasn't "decent." He was from the Victorian Age. Of course, that's also what worried her, too. Didn't they invent the vibrator? And Sigmund Freud? Didn't they treat women like property? Worse case scenario, maybe he was just invisible and peeping on her. She did not have any of these problems when she thought he was a hallucination. Now, the thought of him seeing her naked made her nauseated. Of course, in his favor, last night, when she told him to excuse himself, he left.

_Or did he?_

She reflected on how strange her feelings were. She was hardly a prude, but the thought of casually being seen naked made her skin crawl. The same with having her breasts stared at or "complimented." Guys getting off from seeing them was eerie and sickening to her, and it was menacing that she had no control over guys doing it, or which guys did it. She couldn't think about it beyond that; there were no words for the discomfort it gave her. Here she now had this hemorrhaging corpse of a dead guy who could peak in on her at any time.

It was, of course, just a distraction, the least of her problems now. She put her robe and slippers, while thinking of what happened last night after she fled Brigitte's room. She came back to her room in a panic, and Bobby was there. Bright blood on his chin and his nightshirt.

"What's the matter, dear?" he had said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

In the nineteenth century, that was probably a new turn of phrase, and he thought he was being witty. "No Bobby," she had said. "I saw something far, far worse."

She was now in the bathroom combing her hair with the flimsy thing that passed for a comb/brush in here. At least she had accomplished what she needed to last night. Through Ginger, June now had some sway over Brigitte. The horrific way Brigitte told her to leave made June wonder if Brigitte was capable of even feeling friendliness now. One thing, it left June with no illusions about Brigitte how radical the changes were within her. Brigitte's brain was now changing just as radically. Her hip and leg turning unnaturally backward gave June one of her nightmares last night. It still made her ill.

Now June viewed her face in the mirror. She still had the bruise in front of her right ear from Violet, which was a reminder to watch out for her. June thought about how Violet totally misconstrued a phrase she made and wouldn't let go of it. "My boyfriends never get straight A's." June meant it literally, without the pun.

June went to the small dresser and put on her clothes.

After Brigitte was out of here, what then for her? Brigitte was doomed to change. Could she ever be Brigitte again? June doubted it, but it was outside of what June could do. Her responsibility was all a matter of minimizing the damage. Get her out of here. To June, though, Brigitte's doom was a gigantic injustice, something she would do anything to change.

_But the new rules really suck._

_

* * *

_

Brigitte woke from her nightmare not with numb hands and a cold sweat, but with a large spot of blood on her pillow.

_Oh, no! What did I do?_

Her lips and mouth felt funny and stiff. She ran to the mirror. There was dried blood on her mouth and on her chin. Could she have been killing in her sleep?

_No! That's so unfair! _She had some control while she was awake, but how could she fight this in her sleep, too? She thought of her nightmares last night, three of them. Were they making her kill? The worst one was about Sam, which both terrified her and filled her with shame.

"Relax, Bee, you didn't hurt anybody," said Ginger. "You were biting the inside of your mouth last night."

Brigitte turned to Ginger, who stood outside the bathroom, looking rock solid again. Her fangs were larger; she was dressed in black pants, a black sweater and black sneakers. There were more streaks in her hair and she had stranger looking claws, the sort that begin to retract. It was the way she was dressed the night Trina died.

"Ginger! You're back!" said Brigitte pleased, the inside of her mouth feeling different.

"Yes, I'm back. Your hand going through me drained the last of my energy, and I went into _coldsleep_. I was about gone by that time anyway."

"Oh, ith so good to thee you," said Brigitte lisping, "I was tho afraid I losth you again."

Ginger laughed. "You sound like you've been hanging out in a gay bar. How long was I gone?"

Brigitte was stunned. She doesn't know? "Only one nighth." She whistled the 't' a little.

"Good. When I disappear, I don't know how long I'm going to be gone," said Ginger. "It didn't matter too much before; it sure does now."

Brigitte turned her attention to her mouth again. She turned back to the mirror. Opening her mouth she could see bites or sores all over the inside of it, on her tongue, on her lips and on the inside her cheeks, and they were all swollen. Surprisingly, they were mostly painless.

"Don't worry they're almost healed now," said Ginger. Brigitte looked toward her, and Ginger anticipated the question. "Yeah, Bee, I did the same thing. I'd just wake up with blood in my mouth. I never bled out on the pillow like that, though. I had a lisp, too, remember?"

"Yes, buth you goth yours when your theeth came in," said Brigitte.

"My theeth?" said Ginger, looking puzzled.

"Your theeth!" said Brigitte frustrated.

Ginger laughed. "I know what you're saying. I'm just shittin' you, Bee."

Brigitte laughed a little. She needed even the slightest humor right now. It was so good to have Ginger back.

Brigitte remembered how monkshood always made her involuntarily bite her tongue, mouth and lips immediately after she shot it. After it happened once, she would always put a toothbrush crosswise between her teeth to stop it. Now she was chewing her mouth up again in her sleep, and now her teeth were _so_ sharp.

"Ginger, how does ith make your theeth sharper?" asked Brigitte, still lisping, trying to stop it.

"Well, it makes _you_ grind your teeth at night. I suppose you're sharpening them without knowing it." said Ginger. Answering Brigitte's look, she continued, "Yes, I saw and heard you doing it. Did I ever do it?"

"Not thath I know of," said Brigitte.

Ginger walked up to Brigitte and began to study her face.

"It's strange, Bee. Your face hasn't change at all. Your teeth aren't bigger. You don't have the ears." Then with a very toothy smile Ginger added, "But your streaks are _wicked!"_

"WHATH-?"

Brigitte turned to the mirror and looked at her hair. Indeed she had red streaks, one on each side. _Do __they have to be red?_ She took a hold of one red lock of her hair and yanked it out.

"Ughh!"

"Fuck! No, Bee, don't do that!" cried Ginger.

Ignoring Ginger, she yanked out the other lock. She had bald spots over her ears on either side now. Ginger weightlessly sat down on the bed, looking shocked. Brigitte flushed the hair down the toilet. She then reached back. Her tail was two, maybe three inches long, and mostly still numb; it wiggled. Her claws had grown back now; she was an armed killer again. Maybe she could use them to sever the tail, before she bit them off again? She reached back to begin.

"Bee, your tail is going to be really, very painful to cut off," said Ginger. "And remember how mine bled? How are you going to hide that? And then fucking thing will just grow back."

Brigitte turned back and looked at her, quizzically.

Ginger continued, sounding concerned, "This really isn't just about hiding it with you, is it? You really hate this."

"Ginger, what is there not to despise about this? 'Every day I get uglier and angrier.' You said that! In four days, I'm not going to be alive anymore."

"Really? Maybe you'll change back later? Careful, Bee. It's going to twist whatever anger you have to make you bloody somebody up. And putting yourself in more pain will just make you angrier. Hey, you're not lisping anymore now, are you?"

Brigitte considered about what Ginger said as she licked over the inside of her mouth and the swelling was gone on her tongue, cheeks and lips, but they felt very different.

"See," said Ginger. "It's not all bad. Nothing is."

Brigitte answered, teasingly, "You remind me of Pamela."

Ginger sniffed, "You don't have to go that low."

Brigitte brushed her teeth and washed the blood off her face. She looked back into the room. Ginger was at the window.

"Where the fuck is this place?" asked Ginger.

Brigitte didn't answer; she took off her gown. She had hair all over her back, shoulders, chest, but not on her breasts. She plucked one off her shoulder, looking at it in the dim light in details she humanly should not be seeing. She could see it was black at the bottom, brown in the middle and red on top. It was also pointed, and not at all like a human hair. If her coating weren't so thin, it would be animal fur, not hair. She changed her pad, which, as she expected, was saturated, and then did her other toiletries. Ginger went back to the bed and lay down, her head at the foot of the bed resting on her arm, facing away from Brigitte who now sponged herself off. At least the cramps were not nearly as bad today. She went through another bad time last night after the painkiller wore off ahead of schedule, and they wouldn't give her anything. They also gave her another tranquilizer shot which made her mean again, but then put her out. At least she got to shower before that all happened, which made her feel less animalistic for a short while.

Brigitte left the gown on the floor and came out of the bathroom. She walked around the bed and stopped right in front of Ginger's face. Ginger was stunned.

_Shit! I don't like this view! _

Ginger sat up and said awkwardly, "So, you're not feeling any cold are you? Just like I said."

To her continued discomfort, Brigitte continued to stand, hands on her hips, looking at her perplexed. "Ginger. . . ." Brigitte began, but then paused.

Ginger was thinking with relief at least it wasn't a come-on type of look, but the ghost was freaked, nonetheless. "Jesus Harvey Christ, Bee. You and June need to mind meld."

"Ginger, why are you here?"

Ginger laughed bitterly, but she was relieved, "Fuck, I don't know!"

"What?" said Brigitte, disbelieving.

"Sorry, I don't know, Bee!" Ginger repeated. "As in 'I have no fucking idea!'"

"Ginge, how can you not know?" asked Brigitte, incredulous.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but no great voice told me anything. This is nothing like the movies. I was never told in heaven that to get my wings I'd have to come here and help you. No. Nobody told me anything."

Brigitte stood agape. She was stunned that the trail of meaning to her ordeal Ginger's presence implied would begin and end with Ginger. "Nobody? Ginger, you wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"I'm sorry you expected . . . anything. No, I wouldn't lie to you about something like that, Bee. Not only are you my sister and best friend, but this is bad enough, and I guess if I'm not in Hell yet, lying to you would put me there."

Ginger stood up and began to pace. For Brigitte, watching her in those clothes reminded of her agitation on the night that Trina died, when Ginger was salivating and sweating over the sight of blood.

"Bee, I have so many fucking complaints about my afterlife," Ginger griped. "For one thing, why would I fucking be here with a constant craving for a cigarette? That's just fucked!"

"So, where do you go when you're not here?"

"I go, like, to sleep, except it's colder. Then when I 'wake up' like I did this early this morning, I find myself with you. Maybe it's more like 'I dream' and I find myself with you, like right now. I don't know. Sometimes I think maybe I'm in a hospital in a coma, having all these dreams one after another."

Brigitte went to the dresser to get her clothes. This relieved Ginger, who never remembered her shy, timid sister having such clueless immodesty before. Even after Ginger came back, and her sister thought she was a hallucination, Brigitte was not like this.

_It must be the curse. _

Ginger remembered losing her modesty, too, but at least for her flashing had a purpose. With Brigitte, it did not have a purpose, and she did not appear to even be aware that it should. Ginger tried not to feel violated, tried not to feel it hadn't been some sort of incestuous, lesbian come-on, but it was difficult.

_Fuck! She had me looking right into her twat!_

"Why do you appear like that?" asked Brigitte, gesturing to her teeth.

"I have no control over how I look, either, Bee, and I can't even look in a mirror and see how I look. I have no fucking control over when or where I appear, or what the fuck I look like when I do."

Ginger swept her long, red and white hair back, as though wondering what it must look like. Brigitte began to perceive just how ghastly this was for her sister. She thought of the irony. Still fifteen, now the younger sister here, Ginger was almost literally attached at Brigitte's wrist, as their mother always said Brigitte shouldn't be to Ginger's.

_Maybe there's a reason to this, or at least a rhyme?_

"So, what happens if you try to leave me?" asked Brigitte.

"I get colder and colder. I go completely numb, I can't move, can't talk, and then I go into _coldsleep. _After trying it a few times, I wasn't going to try it again."

Brigitte was appalled. She realized that through the work of unknown forces, she and Ginger were really trapped in this together. Why? No answer. What would become of Ginger if Brigitte changed or died?

_"I fucking don't know what I would have done without you."_

"So," said Ginger, "now you know what it was like when you gave me the silent treatment . . . for months?"

"Ginge, I'm so sorry. I had no idea that it was you and you were trapped."

"It's okay, it's okay. I already said. Let's put it behind us, Bee, but now I have a question."

Momentarily, Brigitte looked at her claws. Dangerous again, she must trim them before she left the room. She would also have to attend to the wounds under her hand bandages.

"Bee . . . how did I die?"

That astounded Brigitte. Her left hand went numb as though she had been hit on the elbow. She began shaking her hand and flicking her fingers and claws, trying to get the feeling back. "You really don't know?"

"Haven't I asked you enough?" said Ginger.

"Yes, but then I just thought you were just a hallucination fucking with me."

"No, Bee," Ginger said, with tears in her eyes. "The very last thing I remember was being in Sam's room, and you saying that I had destroyed everything in your life that wasn't me. Then you cut your hand and my . . . paw, and clasped them together and said 'Now I _am_ you.' That's the last thing I remember."

Brigitte thought of how many times she had refused to answer Ginger's question. Now, Brigitte thought she was going to start to tell Ginger what happened.

Instead she heard herself shout, enraged, "YOU TRIED TO FUCK SAM! YOU FUCKING CUNT!"

She pounced at Ginger, who was stunned as Brigitte's claws, passed through her. Ginger dissolved away. Falling into the wall, Brigitte turned around and looked for her. She wanted only to tear her sister apart. Though Ginger was definitely gone, Brigitte kept scouring the room for her, growling.

_I'll make her scream! I'll taste her blood!_

After some seconds, Brigitte then realized that this was an impossibility. Rationality began to return. She began to come out of the rage that clouded her; her reasoning then recovered. At first she felt no remorse about it, then she felt relieved she could not have possibly hurt Ginger, but made her no less guilty for even trying it, wondering if her sister could forgive her.

_I'm sorry, again, I tried to kill you . . . again, Ginge. _

_Of course, not before you tried to kill me._

_Ginger, what happened to us?_

Brigitte sat down. At the door, somebody pulled up the shade. It was Cassie, smiling at her like Pamela, only creepier. The shade went back down and the door opened. Cassie came in and two male attendants followed her. Brigitte wondered if it was going to be a rule for staff now: a nurse coming to her room was to be accompanied by at least two large male attendants.

"Well, that was quite an outburst!" said Cassie. "Are you all right?"

"Peachy," said Brigitte in a flat voice.

"It's right on time for your shot . . ." said Cassie.

"Can you give me a few minutes, first?" said Brigitte, dreading what might happen if they gave her the shot before she chewed down her claws.

"Brigitte . . !" said Cassie.

Then, June was at the door- of all people. Brigitte did not think June would come near her after last night. June looked around and said in her high, sweet voice, "Hey, Brigitte, you want to go to breakfast?"

"Yes," said Brigitte, awkwardly. She was surprised that June would want to talk to her again after what Brigitte showed her.

"Well, good," said June, a little forced. "I'll be up there waiting for you."

"Yeah, see ya," answered Brigitte.

June went away. Brigitte turned back to Cassie. "Just a few minutes alone before I take the shot? Please, please?"

Brigitte hated the begging, but she had nothing to bargain with, and it seemed to work. Cassie's demeanor changed. Cassie had seen Brigitte being friendly with June, and so reasoned maybe Brigitte was not as anti-social as she first seemed. She had not seen this side of Brigitte before.

"Okay, I can give you fifteen minutes. Is that enough?"

"I'll take it," said Brigitte. "Thanks."

Everyone left. The door shut. Brigitte regarded her claws. How pretty they were. She loved feeling dangerous, but they had to go. She began biting them off. They were hard but her teeth went right through them. Then she began to lift the bandages to re-wounded her hands so the staff wouldn't detect her healing when they changed them. As she did, she had many thoughts and all of them bothered her. Most of all she wondered why she wanted to kill Ginger- again. Yes, it had been a jealous rage, but Brigitte had not felt it right up to the second that she exploded. Her rage had come almost out of nowhere, and her body had responded to it before she even knew she felt it. How was she going to control this now?

She couldn't help thinking back on the worst nightmare she had last night. Maybe it had something to do with this, because it did involve Sam. More than the pure fright of it, Brigitte was ashamed of what she did in that nightmare, and doubly so that she actually climaxed when she did it. The first orgasm of her life, in a nightmare/wet dream, and if she thought of it too much, she would loathe herself.

* * *

As Ginger predicted, the shot did not effect Brigitte anymore, but Brigitte did her best to act like it did.

Brigitte sat with June in the "dinning room" as opposed to the lounge, now. There were four large cafeteria tables and six smaller "satellite" tables. Most of the girls were eating in the lounge and not here. So Brigitte and June had some privacy in the large room. A TV played up on the wall. To Brigitte's relief, they were giving her real food now, even though it was still not enough.

"Here, you can have mine," said June, who acted and smelled much less fearful today after conversing with Brigitte more. Brigitte sometimes did not like the way June looked at her, though, and though lonely, felt company might not be the best thing right now.

At least she could not physically hurt Ginger.

"Ah, June," said Brigitte, giving weak protest, unable to turn it down.

"Don't worry," said June. "I filled up on yogurt and fruit."

June then picked up the conversation again. "Anyway, they're not going to let you stay in the room alone, Brigitte. They're going to insist that you come out for activities, therapy, group therapy . . . "

"That's so fucked," said Brigitte.

"They have smoke breaks where they take us upstairs to light up. And, tonight we'll have dinner with the boys . . ."

"Boys?" said Brigitte, intrigued.

June was surprised at the interest Brigitte showed. "Yes, they have a boys wing here. They keep us separate, mostly. Twice a week we have dinner with them, and we have some activity therapy with them, too, group therapy . . . oh shit, speaking of boys."

Brigitte looked to where June was looking to see a tall, platinum blond flirting with the two male medical techs very shamelessly. Her clothes, including jeans and a black sweater, were very tight.

Brigitte turned back. "What?"

"Nothing. That's Shannon. I think she's trying to do all the guy staff members now."

Brigitte wanted to ask June about something more important. "June," said Brigitte. "There's something really strange going on here."

June laughed nervously. "Do tell!"

"No! With this place, I mean," said Brigitte, now whispering, and opening her hand and showing June her fingers. "The staff changed my bandages last night and today. They looked right at my fingers! They didn't react to them; they didn't say anything."

"That _is_ strange," said June agreed. Brigitte closed her fingers again.

June forgot to keep her eyes open for Violet, who had just entered the room.

"They also knew about Ginger, too," Brigitte continued. "They asked me about her."

"What did they ask?"

"They asked who she was and if they could contact her," said Brigitte.

"And they weren't talking about, like, with a Ouiji Board?"

Brigitte laughed, "No, but I gave it away that I was seeing her."

"Well, then they don't know she's dead," said June. "And they won't believe she's a ghost. I don't know how they knew her name, but they sure don't know much else, then. They'll have you down as having psychotic symptoms, and you can expect that they'll ask you more about Ginger."

June took a sip of coffee and put it down. "About your fingers, I don't kno . . .

As June spoke, Violet walked by and "accidentally" elbowed her, this time fully in the left ear. June closed her eyes in pain, for a split second.

Brigitte snapped. Her body uncoiled with explosive force across the table. The first two middle knuckles on her left hand delivered an annihilating blow to Violet's elbow. Brigitte growled in satisfaction and landed right back in her seat. She had reached across the table so fast that only person in the room who saw it, a paranoid schizophrenic named Nancy, was too scared to tell anyone. The two medical techs assigned to watch Brigitte had their eyes on Shannon instead, totally missing it.

June, however, felt a swirl and vividly heard bones smash and shatter, point-blank next to her right ear. She opened her eyes already feeling sick, as Violet screamed and fell into the chairs next to her. As June got up, Violet screamed again as she hit the floor. June wished she did not see the sharp bones actually rip out through Violet's elbow and the bleeding start. Immediately June felt like she was dreaming.

Mercifully Violet already went into shock. Somewhere in this, June glanced back at Brigitte, who was still sitting, or maybe sitting again, shaking her left hand like it hurt, then hiding it in her lap with a look of mean satisfaction. Brigitte looked at her and gave a slight grin, then started to sweat. By the time June knelt down and tried to help, Violet was already unconscious and the medical staff were rushing in to help.

They did not suspect Brigitte, who was, after all, a small person sitting clear across the table. Violet never saw what hit her. After questioning June and ruling her out, the staff concluded that Violet must have just just fallen, as hard as that was to believe from the injury. June looked over at Brigitte, quickly eating breakfast, not even pretending to be sickened by this. There was nothing like remorse on her face.

No, Brigitte thought _that ugly cunt-bitch deserved it,_ elbowing June like that. She was disturbed, though, that again she again responded to her rage before she even knew that she felt it, though this time, the results felt good. She did her best not to drool from the smell of the blood, but it became more difficult. She knew she would become a total freak if she actually looked at the it.

June had to leave the room. Brigitte finished eating quickly and left as well.

A while afterward, June was standing outside and watching appalled as they brought Violet out in a gurney. Brigitte had put two people in the hospital in two days.

The only feeble consolation June had, or maybe it was a feeling of safety: she knew this definitely meant Brigitte _did_ like her, which was certainly better than the opposite.

Brigitte came up beside her and said, "Let's go."

June went with her to the lounge, feeling too overpowered to say anything then.

They left as paramedics wheeled Violet Kramer unconscious out to an ambulance that took her to Regional Hospital. Though gravely injured, the trauma was at least over for her; she would never remember what happened nor would she be harmed by Brigitte again.

And oddly, it would turn out she would be the least unfortunate of the patients at Four Point. For the rest, the ordeal had not even begun.


	8. Saved from Murder

**Chapter 8:**

SAVED FROM MURDER**  
**

Brigitte and June sat alone in the lounge. It was smoke break, and almost all the other girls were upstairs. Afraid of having her fingers seen, Brigitte did not go. June, did not go because of Brigitte, even though June felt like she needed a cigarette badly right now. They had turned the television down, and sat on the more comfortable chairs on the side nearest the window. Whatever was on, June did not care. She was cold and had her hands under her shirt and sweater, while she tried to comprehend speed with which Brigitte demolished Violet; how Brigitte had shown no sign that she could turn so savage, so fast; and how she could feel no guilt about it.

"Heh," Brigitte smirked. "I think I broke my knuckles on that bitch! Look!"

June looked at them reluctantly. Brigitte showed her the second knuckles of her index and middle finger of her left hand. They were, indeed, red and swollen. At least they were not blasted to pieces like Violet's elbow had been. Brigitte's hand looked surprisingly fragile to June, considering the unbelievable damage it just did.

With a grimace, Brigitte then pulled her fingers straight, with a pop-snap. June was used to bone-snapping and cracking sounds by this time; far worse things troubled her now.

"Ugh." grunted Brigitte. "They're already better, though. I'm healing from fucking broken bones without a doctor!" She looked up with a smile. "It's wicked!"

After a pause, Brigitte said, "Shit! You're scared of me again, June, I can smell it."

"Well, um, I have never seen anybody move that fast," said June. "How did you do that?" June simplified, as she had not actually seen it but knew intimately how fast it had been.

Brigitte laughed with a paradoxical cheerfulness. "How would I know? I just did it. I guess it's faster when you have no idea you're going to do it. Me? I'm trying to figure out how not to do it again."

Brigitte remembered how fast Ginger had been when she sped in from nowhere to drag Trina into the house. Ginger must have been pulling her punches on Trina earlier that day, because, as Brigitte had learned the measure of own strength, Trina should have been a mound of bloody oatmeal after that. This meant Ginger had been in more control than it looked.

_Maybe Ginger did not want to break her hands?_

Bringing Brigitte back to the conversation, June asked, "You mean you had _no_ control over it?"

Brigitte laughed again. "I'm so confused now, I don't know, June. I feel good for bringing that misery to that bitch, though. I remember Ginger did, too."

June went to say something and paused, it felt so risky to try to say it. Brigitte guessed, though.

"No!" said Brigitte. "You feel sorry for a bitch who was beating you? Is that what it is? I see your bruise," said Brigitte indicating in front of her left ear. "Did she give that to you, too?"

June nodded meekly.

"So this big, ugly bitch has been taking shots at you and you've just had to take it because you're so small? Fuck! I should have killed her. How can you feel sorry for her, June?"

"If she was going to fuck me up the way you did with her, I wouldn't."

"Oh, so I guess I don't get any thanks, then." Brigitte sat back annoyed. "Who was she, anyway?"

"Violet," June answered.

"Why was she blindsiding you?"

"She thought I made fun of her cup size. All I said was that my boyfriends never got straight A's. I meant it, literally; I attract dumb guys. She thought I was mocking her."

Brigitte gave a dry giggle. "You're not kidding are you?"

"No, I'm not. I want breast reduction surgery so bad!"

"Thathh . . ." suddenly Brigitte growled, and her face turned vicious. June's breath caught in horror. Brigitte swiped her hand through the air and stomped, growling again. June, wondering if she was transforming right now, was frozen in terror, waiting to die. Brigitte's made incoherent gestures with one hand while her other covered her mouth.

"Brigitte . . . what is it?" June rasped, fearfully.

Brigitte, with tears in her eyes, at first would only shake her head swiftly, keeping her mouth covered with her hand. Finally she took her hand off and opened her mouth, which was full of blood. June almost screamed.

"I fucking bit my mouth!," said Brigitte. "Be back." She covered her mouth again.

Brigitte got up and walked out, while June felt relief spread through her. Her sweat seemed to freeze all over her making her shiver. Ten seconds before, she thought for sure she would die.

"Shit!" June said and exhaled.

She quickly realized how futile her fear had been. If Brigitte would have attacked, June's own first awareness of it, if any, would have been grave injury. Feeling fear was almost the "all clear" signal with Brigitte. June wondered how she was ever going to stand this now? More, why was she? Did she really have to stay around Brigitte to help her? As she pondered those questions, she had an extra chill and slight dizziness hit her. This would be Bobby. She looked around. It was not Bobby.

"June. Well, this is different," said a female voice from the seat Brigitte had been sitting in. June turned back.

"Ginger!"

* * *

Meanwhile, Brigitte had gone out into the hall. There was a black-haired girl in a hospital gown walking slowly, crying. She did that earlier this morning, all morning, and had been doing it last night. Brigitte passed the nurses' desk and went into the nearest bathroom.

Inside, she went to the nearest sink to spit the blood out. A small piece of her mouth came out, too. The bathroom had two sinks, two toilet stalls, and two shower stalls. Brigitte knew one of the toilet stalls was occupied. She ran the water, and looked into her mouth with the mirror. She saw, as expected, the bleeding had stopped and the bite already healing, maybe into a different shape, one that she couldn't bite accidentally? She rinsed her mouth out. The water felt refreshingly cold. She looked again. The mirror wasn't clear enough for her to see enough detail, but her mouth seemed to be slightly more pale.

It had totally a different shape inside than just the previous day. It no longer felt like her mouth now. She looked at her hair. Behind her, the toilet flushed. On her head, the bald spots were not bald anymore. The red streaks were growing back. The red-tinged hairs were a half inch long now, already. Brigitte punched the mirror loudly. To her surprise, it did not break.

A girl came out of the stall, and Brigitte turned her head toward her warily; she jumped and gazed back at Brigitte in terror. Brigitte could see she was of medium height, pale, with black eyebrows and dark hair frizzed upward in a total, stormy mess. It was Nancy, though Brigitte did not know, the sole eye-witnessed to the assault on Violet. Brigitte let her dart out, and turned back to the mirror to see if there was anything about her face that might have caused the girl to be that terrified. She examined her teeth and saw, with satisfaction, that she had no fangs, they were still her teeth. While she gazed at them, she pressed her tongue against the one in the very back on the top left. The tooth suddenly popped painfully and shifted further back in her mouth. As suddenly as it had popped, it became fixed again. She felt that go down her spine.

She stomped her foot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

She felt doomed.

* * *

Back in the lounge, June and Ginger continued to talk. Ginger looked up at the clock.

"Where's my sister?" Ginger asked.

"She's just in the bathroom."

"Okay, is it still Tuesday?"

"Yes, still Tuesday," said June.

"Good. Can you take me to her?"

"She'll be back in just a sec, if she's not, I'll look for her. I need some information Ginger."

"And I need to be caught up," said Ginger.

"Okay, she destroyed a girl's elbow and put her in the hospital."

"Oh, nice," said Ginger, casually. "Is she in trouble?"

"No." said June. "Nobody saw her, Ginger, but it's the second person in two days. What I don't understand- she's really happy about it."

"Second person? Well, I guess I just haven't been around enough. She also tried to attack me," said Ginger, immediately regretting it.

"What? That means she could attack me, too! Ginger, she's lashing out at people before she can think. What can I do? I don't want to end up like that girl without the elbow."

"Well, what's her mood like?"

"She's pretty cheerful about it," said June.

"Yes, I'm thinking that she would be. I always was after I beat the crap out of somebody or tore something into fucking pieces."

"So, what the fuck do I do?"

Ginger made a sighing sound, and asked. "I don't suppose there are any dogs in this place?"

June was dumbfounded. "Why are you asking?"

"Oh, no reason," said Ginger making another sighing sound. "Okay, if you can keep her cheerful, she's not going to kill anyone, but she might still play a little too hard."

"Great."

"She's going through it a little differently than I did," said Ginger. "But if we're lucky, this might just be a phase. She might get a little more control over her reflexes, but you still have to keep her cheerful."

"Ginger, maybe you don't notice, but this place is dismal and boring. She doesn't want to be here. How am I going to keep her cheerful?"

"That's where some dogs would come in handy. I'm trying to think of something better, really . . . "

* * *

Brigitte was out of the bathroom, when Cassie stopped her.

"Hello Brigitte! Doctors Gadepalli and Loraine want to see you now," she said cheerfully, as though Brigitte could expect all her problems would be solved by the visit. Brigitte did not like being told to see anyone in this place, the least of which, those two doctors. Even the thought of seeing Dr. Gadepalli again made her seethe and sweat, fearing she might kill him on sight.

"I really don't think it would be good for me to see those two now," said Brigitte.

"Oh, Brigitte, you're in the hospital. You must see the doctors so they can treat you."

Cassie's tone, cadences and dumb reasoning imitated Pamela's completely. Brigitte thought she would shout, "You're not my mother!" and beat Cassie into a mound of bloody oatmeal. A growl passed up through her throat, and she coughed to hide it.

Instead, she said, "All right. Let me go to the lounge first to tell June."

"I'm glad you made a friend," said Cassie.

Brigitte turned away resenting her, and how she made it feel like faux Pamela was giving approval of her new friend. It made Brigitte feel angry and sad.

_I've been living on my own for two years, and I'm not your daughter!_

She entered the lounge, surprised to find both Ginger and June talking. Her sister's dress hadn't changed, her hair though, was loose and disheveled now. Brigitte paused, feeling guilty, trying to apologize.

"Ginge I'm . . ."

Ginger interrupted, "Okay Bee, what did you do this time? Steal my birthday or something?"

"No, I'm sorry for . . ."

"Don't say it, Bee. I went through it all, remember?" said Ginger, as other girls began to enter the lounge, smoke break being over.

Brigitte turned to June, and said, "They want me to see the doctors now."

June did not like the sound of this. She hoped nobody else would end up in Regional. Maybe the doctors would detect her aggression and prescribe something? If they did, would Brigitte take it? Would it even work?

_No, more likely she'll attack the doctor._

Ginger got up and said, "I'll go with you, Bee."

"Okay, see you both later," said June.

June was relieved. Maybe that would work, maybe Ginger could keep Brigitte from going berserk again. Even if she was still only fifteen, Ginger had been through it. She understood it. As the sisters walked off together, June looked at the high ceiling. She wondered why she was doing this? As the only living person who could know and could believe Brigitte's disease, she had a unique responsibility, but she was aware of how much danger she was in, and how helpless she was against it. An atheist the day before, she actually prayed now, prayed to know why, prayed for any solution.

Outside of the lounge, and to the left, the dim hallways at the nurses station formed a T. The left branch led to patient rooms, the last of which was Brigitte's, after that were bathrooms with showers, and then the laundry room. The hallway then ended in a cul-du-sac without even a window. The branch to the right continued down with more patient rooms, to end at locked double-doors, and to their right, a stairwell which Brigitte ran into the day before. The hall going straight ahead at the left of the nurse's station had the dining room where Brigitte ate that morning. Brigitte did not know anything else about it.

Cassie spotted Brigitte. "Why so down?" said Cassie. "The doctors are going to help you."

Ginger, clearly also aggravated by Cassie's unwitting imitation of Pamela, put her middle finger up an inch in front of Cassie's face and then lowered it so it was in a position to slide up her nostril. Brigitte smirked.

"I bet they will," said Brigitte. "I can't wait to be cared for."

Cassie took Brigitte down the perpendicular hall. They passed the dining room. She noticed a door marked "Recreation Room," and then they reached a door with the sign "Dr. P. Javed Gadepalli." Cassie knocked. The door opened swinging inward. Brigitte turned to Ginger, but to her surprise and disappointment, her sister was gone.

A large, male medical tech with short blond hair and in green scrubs opened the door. He stepped away from it, and Brigitte, with relief, saw Ginger in the room, and not gone after all, but sitting to the right front of a large desk with her head turned toward Brigitte, smiling. Behind the desk was that _bastard_ Gadepalli and to the far side sat the red-haired Dr. Loraine who Brigitte had met while under the influence. The room was large, carpeted and well furnished. To the left were two couches facing each other, with a large wrought-iron-framed window behind the far one. Still to the left at the far wall was a large bookcase. Upon the nearest couch, two other male medical techs sat, meaning to Brigitte that they apparently expected her to be somewhat dangerous. _How much did they really know?_ The medical tech who opened the door then left, to Brigitte's relief.

Dr. Gadepalli stood up. "Brigitte, we are happy to see you again. Please sit down."

He stopped and gestured toward the chair in front of the desk on the other side of Ginger, who got up. Brigitte came in warily and sat down. Dr. Gadepalli also sat back down. Cassie left, closing the door.

"We apologize that this has been difficult for you," said Dr. Loraine," but we really do want to help you, Brigitte. To do so, we do need some honest answers, and we're hoping you'd now cooperate."

_ You've imprisoned me, drugged me, killed me, and you are endangering others. Yeah, I'll cooperate._

Dr. Gadepalli quickly added, "Anything we learn from you will be used so we could release you as soon as possible. Despite what you think, we don't want you in here longer than necessary."

With the two young men behind her, and one just having left, Brigitte could recognize now the smell of guys that Ginger had spoken of, so strong in here it was like a haze, a constant distraction. Keeping her back to them made her nervous, but she knew she could hear them approach before they could touch her, and noted their distance; no way they could stop her from killing Dr. Gadepalli if the impulse took her. In a way, she wanted to prevent that impulse, but did not know how or why. What would they do to her then? Arrest? Prison?

_I'll fight them all first!_

Dr. Gadepalli sat down, picked up his pen and began writing on a notepad. Beneath it was an open file folder. Ginger sat down on the desk to the side of and facing Brigitte, her legs pulled up.

"I can see it in your eyes, Bee," said Ginger, sincerely. "Please don't."

Brigitte heard Ginger and managed to think of what the doctor had said, but she immediately recognized the promise would be an empty one. Gloom began to pour over her. She knew Brigitte Fitzgerald would be totally gone in four days and nothing would stop her from crumbling away. Right now, of all things, she just wanted most just to leave, be alone, and wait for the inevitable.

"I wish to also apologize for the problem with the food," said Gadepalli, to Brigitte's surprise. "You see, usually a patient fed intravenously for five days cannot immediately manage solid food . . ."

As he was saying this, Ginger pivoted herself toward Gadepalli and gave him the double middle finger in front of his eyes. He went on talking to Brigitte, oblivious to the fact that "the bird" covered each eye. Brigitte giggled. Dr. Gadepalli paused, and stopped to write something.

Ginger tried to read it from the side. "Shit, his handwriting sucks!" she said.

He cleared his voice, and went on. "It appears that you're an exception to that. So far, you have been an exception to many things."

"Eat me, Gadfly!" said Ginger, who was sitting now on top of desk right next to the pad he was writing on.

"Yes, I was like that in high school, too," said Brigitte.

"We'll make amends with you, I promise," he said. "First, we do have to clarify some details about you."

The humble tone caught Brigitte off-guard, but she was suspicious.

"We must get the answers to some questions," Dr. Loraine said. "How old are you?"

_That's it! They don't know my age!_ _If I'm not a minor, they have to release me!_

_"_Nineteen," she said.

"What's your date of birth?"

Brigitte chose a quick date, "January fourth, nineteen-ninety one."

While they said this, Ginger shifted to a kneeling position with her back toward Dr. Gadepalli. She looked at Brigitte and winked. Brigitte glanced curiously, not knowing what to expect.

Dr. Gadepalli asked, "Again, do you have a parent, a guardian, a relative or friend that we can inform and, if possible, release you into their care?"

On that last word, Ginger mooned the doctor, who continued to hold a solemn, serious expression. Brigitte broke out laughing and could not stop. The doctors just halted and their writing and furrowed their brows. Brigitte continued to laugh convulsively, while Ginger held the pose with a huge smile.

Regaining control turned out to be impossible for a few minutes. As Brigitte fought for it, Dr. Gadepalli began to page through the file in front of him. Just then Ginger looked back over her shoulder and said, "Both of you kiss my ass!" And slapped her butt, which caused Brigitte to laugh again.

"Brigitte?" asked Dr. Gadepalli.

"Sor . . . sor . . . sorry!" she finally stopped herself, not believing she was apologizing to these people.

Ginger pulled her pants back up, jumped off the desk, walked behind Dr. Gadepalli and looked over his shoulder. Not for at least a decade had Brigitte laughed like that.

"No," said Brigitte, when she finally could. "I don't have anyone who can do that." She guffawed for a few seconds. "I'm . . . I really am alone. But I'm not a minor!"

Dr. Gadepalli read the pages in the file.

"I'm afraid in this case, that will not matter," he said. "We need somebody whose care we could put you in if we are to release you right now. Your parents are dead?"

Instead of answering, Brigitte laughed again, unable to forget Ginger's caper.

"Your parents are dead?" repeated Dr. Gadepalli after a pause.

"Yes," said Brigitte.

"Who is Ginger then?"

"Huh? Can he see me?" said Ginger, looking mortified, her hand over her mouth.

Brigitte laughed uproariously again, amused at Ginger's discomfort. She said to Ginger, "No . . . no . . ."

Brigitte then finished laughing, cleared her throat, and looked to Dr. Gadepalli, "How do you know about Ginger?"

Jarringly, Dr. Gadepalli stopped reading and writing and for once actually looked at Brigitte. Ginger looked at his notepad.

"I was going to tell you when we last met," said Dr. Gadepalli, "but our session ended too abruptly. When I said you were unconscious for five days, you were not completely unconscious all that time. You had periods of delirium."

Now it was Brigitte's turn to feel mortified at what they probably knew. Now suspicious, she feared that they had put the whole thing together. She despised the whole possibility of being found out now. To avoid that, she just wanted to get out, get away from the danger.

Dr. Gadepalli continued, "From what was heard, we gathered that you had some serious trauma involving somebody named Ginger, but we really know nothing else about her. We know about some kind of oath. Other names you gave were Sam and Pamela. You repeatedly said, 'I'm not dy . . .'"

"Stop!" said Brigitte. Her hand was beginning to tingle.

"That's traumatic for you to recall, isn't it?" said Dr. Gadepalli.

"Fuck, I can't read his notes," Ginger said. "They're not even in English."

Ginger moved over to look at Dr. Loraine's notes. Upon glancing she chortled.

"Eww. Bee, she thinks we were probably lesbian lovers," said Ginger looking up. "Don't worry, they don't have a clue."

"The staff has observed you for the last twenty-four hours," said Dr. Gadepalli. "And we have drawn some preliminary conclusions on how we can begin treating you so that we may release you as soon as possible."

"Treat me?" said Brigitte. "If you really want to help me, either release me now or . . . " she swallowed, ". . .lock me in a room and don't let me out no matter what."

"Ah, Bee," Ginger interjected. "You fucked up. Now that you've told them, they're not going to do either one for you."

Ginger got back up on the desk standing this time, facing toward the couches while the the doctors exchanged glances. Her actions distracted Brigitte, of course, as Dr. Gadepalli began to write again.

"So, since you believe confinement is best, then you are already aware of your high aggression level, but you do not wish to hurt anyone?" asked Dr. Gadepalli.

"Hey, boys!" said Ginger. "Look!" She lifted her shirt.

Brigitte did not look, but she smirked; meanwhile she found herself actually agreeing with Dr. Gadepalli. Now something else was working on her, something she did not count on; the scent of the guys was making her horny.

"Suppose you're right," said Brigitte, evasively.

"Instead of locking you in a room, I'm prescribing two medications for you," said Dr. Gadepalli, writing.

"No! No medications," said Brigitte.

"These are not tranquilizers, and these are not anything you might have experimented or self-medicated with. These are specifically made to reduce aggression," he said.

"Hey, Dr. G, wanna kiss my ass again?" Ginger lowered her pants.

Brigitte laughed again. She had not known that they actually had medications that reduced aggression. Maybe these would help, or buy her a little time at least. She could not keep up assaulting people two a day. Maybe without the rage she would begin to think more clearly about how to escape from here. She was hoping the session was over. Even though she felt no anger right now, the guys' scents made her feel aroused and uncomfortable.

Dr. Gadepalli leaned forward, and with a gesture, unwittingly put his hand through Ginger's calf. Ginger gasped, disappeared and reappeared at the side of the desk.

"Shit," she said, gasping, as she pulled up her pants. "Hate that!"

Brigitte answered, "Okay, I'll take those meds. But please, please, release me in the next two days."

"Good," said Dr. Gadepalli, rubbing his hand like it was cold. "They do have side effects. One is drowsiness, but only after the initial doses. Dry mouth is another you may notice. That's all, for now, Brigitte. Cassie will give you your first doses, and we hope to have you out of here soon."

Brigitte got up sweating, feeling hot all over. She gazed toward the guys, their scent almost overwhelming to her at the now. Annoying as it was, at least she did not kill anyone.

Cassie stood immediately outside the door. "Brigitte, I have your medications.

The medical tech who had answered the door was leaning against the wall with a clipboard. Cassie gave the medications to Brigitte in a paper cup. Brigitte took them into her mouth, Cassie handed her water in another paper cup, Brigitte swallowed them. Meanwhile, the med tech marked something down on the clipboard. He came up and handed it to Cassie. Brown hair, blue eyed and slim, he looked _so_ attractive to Brigitte, but outside of a closed room, the effect had weakened and began to wear off. Her first experience of having her mind and feelings dictated to by her nose.

"I'm so glad you agreed to take them," said Cassie. "Now, you'll get another dose tonight."

"Okay," said Brigitte.

"Okay," said Brigitte who downed the rest of the water with Ginger standing next to her. The other two medical techs came out joining the one that opened the door. They all glanced at her, and then walked away. She watched them, their extra interest and the ache she felt troubled her. Brigitte did not know what she would have done if there had been three guys and two doctors in there with her. With her suspicion, and her mind clouded by the smells, it would not have ended well. It seems they were not as dumb here as she had first thought.

She walked away from Cassie. Ginger followed. Brigitte began to laugh as they went toward the lounge, actually in pretty good spirits.

"Ginge . . ." said Brigitte, starting meekly. "Thank you for getting me through that . . . _you harlot!_" It was a word Brigitte had never said aloud before.

"Bitch," Ginger said back, laughing.


	9. Distortions in Memory

_**A/N: **Please refer to Ginger Snaps when I say about this chapter, no comment._

* * *

**Chapter 9:**

DISTORTIONS IN MEMORY**  
**

_Breathing stopped; the feeble heartbeat ceased. The beast, Ginger, died in Brigitte's arms. Silver moonlight shined like icicle spikes through the tattered curtains of their basement bedroom. _

_ Fifteen-year-old Brigitte wept, head resting on its ribs where a knife handle protruded. She must have gouged its heart. A lucky stab, she thought. Lucky . . . _

_ It no longer mattered who broke faith first. Brigitte knew she had failed her sister, who was not responsible for her actions; and failed Sam, who lay dead down the hallway._

_ For minutes, Brigitte's hopes swam, dying, in a fishbowl of murky denial. She raised her head and sat, waiting for the body to change back and then resurrect. She hoped maybe the knife hadn't killed but cured, like serendipitous surgery. So many other people had died. It made Brigitte consider killing herself, but she already fought hard for her life, so it was settled. Suicide was Ginger's solution, not hers. _

_ Nothing changed as she watched except the blood went from bright red to maroon, and the smell turned from warm and sweet to dead-bitter. _

_ She reached into her coat pocket for Ginger's skull necklace; Brigitte had taken it when her sister was unconscious. She put it down over the heart of the dead creature, intending to leave it, but this felt inadequate. Taking two candles off the nightstand, she positioned them by the body, and lit them, knowing this would probably be the only funeral Ginger would get. She tried to forget the ugliness of this dead thing and the growing stench fora moment. This gruesome carcass was still Ginger's remains, defiled as they were. She needed to think of something, a prayer, a eulogy, an epitaph, anything. _

_ "Prayer is bullshit," Ginger had said. "If there's a god, she would already know what you want. You don't have to pray for it."_

_ But Brigitte felt more humbled now than her sister ever did. She straightened her shoulders and laid a hand on Ginger's skull necklace while grasping the other one that hung from her own. She started with a reaffirmation of their oath: "Together forever . . ." _

_ Then a rapid, bullet-force succession of mental images hit her: the swearing of their original oath; their blood dripping on the skulls; a flying raven; her reaching into a cold stream to grab sister; Brigitte being lost in the dark woods, and last, Ginger eating her alive, with a fork. _

_ There were many visions she couldn't remember, interrupted when the skulls went hot. Brigitte opened her eyes, broke contact and cried out, shaking her hands. The smell in the room changed from bitter-dead, to sweet, to something burning. Nevertheless, her hands were unmarred, though her left one wasn't numb anymore. Then the odor changed back, and she noticed the candles had gone out._

_ Bewildered, Brigitte touched, drew back, then picked up Ginger's necklace. Both it and Brigitte's own were cool again, and looked like plain bird-skulls. Nothing on them had changed. Ginger's with red and white beads, hers with black and white. She decided to keep Ginger's too. Brigitte put it on. The twin necklaces would be mementos of her dead sister and their bond. _

_ What now? Brigitte would have to run. She couldn't face her parents. She was infected. The changes her sister suffered would soon start in her. Brigitte picked up the syringe, which she and Sam prepared for Ginger, and held it to her own arm, but stopped, looked at the dead creature and trembled. _

_ What if I go unconscious? _

_ The very thought of being found here and having to explain panicked her. The shot would have to wait until she was far away. She went around the room, opened drawers and grab things: her knapsack, clothes, blanket, towel. She stepped back over the body and yanked photos off the walls. _

_ Then, she heard moaning, jumped, and gaped at the carcass. The blood had gone black. She stared at it, but the voice was male, human, and came from outside the door._

_ "Brigitte," it gasped._

_ "SAM?" Leaping over the carcass, she pushed the dresser aside, unlocked and opened the door. Gazing into the shadows, she saw a large figure leaning in the hall. _

_ "Sam?" She turned on the light. He was covered in his own blood. _

_ "Brigitte?" he said. He was unsteady, squinting, but alive. An awful scar expanded across his throat, with an even bigger, uglier scar visible on his belly through his torn shirt, and another showing on his thigh through torn denim. _

_ "How . . . ? I saw her kill you!" said Brigitte. _

_ "Seems not," he rasped. "I must have healed fast enough." _

_ Something nagged her that this was wrong, but she was overwhelmed with the miracle and desperate to have a different future. She staggered up to him. _

_ "I'm so happy you made it," he said. "Ginger?" _

_ Brigitte embraced him, breaking down, her anguish a wound bleeding in screams. "Oh, Sam! She's dead. Dead! I killed her! I murdered my sister!" His embrace was warm, and pressing her face into the sticky blood on his chest somehow did not repulse her. In fact, the feel and smell was calming and sweet. _

_ "You didn't murder her," he said. _

_ Brigitte sobbed. "She tried to kill me. I had no choice. What are we going to do?"_

_ "I'm in this with you. Are you sure she's dead?" _

_ The question stopped Brigitte for a second. "Yes, I'm sure. She hasn't breathed in at least fifteen minutes." _

_ "Okay," he said, swaying."We're going to get those monkshood stalks, and blow out of here, and when we're far enough away, we make and take the shots."_

_ "But, we can't go with you looking like that."_

_ He grinned."Yes we can. It's Halloween. Just get me an ax from the garage, and I'll fit right in."_

_ It was so simple. He could think on his feet, and Brigitte admired it. _

_ "And you just need a hatchet, and you'll be Lizzy Borden," he added. _

_ He looked and sounded dead serious. She smirked. "Wick-ed," she murmured. _

_ He chuckled, but then grasped his throat and belly in pain."Ow! Okay now, you grab whatever you need and let's fly out in five minutes. Help me sit first." _

_ After she did, he said, "At this rate, I think I'll be perfect in just a few minutes."_

_ "I think you're perfect now," she gushed. Her hand on his chest. _

_ "Yeah, fucking scarred up, in shredded clothes, soaked in my own fucking blood."_

_ "Perfect," she murmured, her eyes unmoving. _

_ "What?" _

_ She startled."Nothing. I'll get my things." _

_ She rushed back to the room. She shut her eyes and licked his blood off her hand. She sighed once, twice. Arousal went through her, deepened, and she realized she, not Sam, was what was wrong here. She grasped her mouth with both hands to stifle her screams as her first orgasm, ever, went through her, buckling her knees, and jolting her with a revelation. _

_ Chains broke within her._

_ When she opened her teared eyes, Sam was saying something outside, but she didn't listen._

_ "Just a second!" she panted. _

_ Seventeen-year-old Brigitte noticed room was not the same one she recalled two years before. What was different? The dead beast had begun to both shrivel at the limbs and bloat around the middle. The smell was heavier. The blood was now black and turning powdery. All of that was right._

_ The light shined in the windows, too bright for mere moonlight. _

That's wrong, _she thought. And like dimmer switch, it faded back to dark. _Oh, is that the way it works?

_ "Are you strong enough now to come in and help me?" she called._

_ "Yeah,"she heard him get to his feet, "but you should travel light." _

_ "It's not what you think."_

_ "What is it?" said Sam, arriving in the room. _

_ Standing behind him, Brigitte closed the door and gazed at him. "Perfect," she whispered._

_ . . ._Must move . . . !

_Brigitte shouted, "No!" _

_Sam looked bewildered. "Who are you yelling to?" _

_ "Oh, nobody here." _

_ "Brigitte, what the fuck is going on? We need to get ready."_

_ "No, we don't," she answered and took off her overcoat, dropping it._

_ "Brigitte, what . . .?"_

_ He stopped as she took off her sweater, and then ripped off her blouse. The buttons went flying._

_ He said, "What are you– Oh, no! After what just happened? Have you snapped?" he gestured to the dead creature. "With that in here? And the smell?" _

_ She giggled. _

_ "What's so funny about this?" _

_ "You seem _so_ real, and beautiful! I'm glad you just showed up. " She removed her bra like stripper and threw it at him. He knocked it away, and stood aghast. She untied and threw off her shoes, making sure he got a good look at her tits and ass. _

_ He came up and grabbed her, looked her in the eye. "Brigitte, come out of it!" _

_ Within his grasp, she wiggled out of her skirt. "Let's do it now. This isn't gonna last forever."_

_ "Not on your fucking life!_

_ "What? Doesn't this turn you on? _

_ "NO! We've got to . . ." _

_ She grabbed his crotch. He screamed in shock and recoiled. _

_ "Wow!" she said, shaking her head. "You lie, Sam, but your hard on doesn't. Or were you still thinking of my sister?" _

_ He gaped at her._

_ She said, "Oh, you thought I didn't notice when I barged in on you? You looked so innocent, so__–__ I guess upright isn't the word__–__ so virtuous, but you can't hide the thing you have for freaky girls."_

_ Sam had turned bright red and looked outraged. "Oh, I hope you two don't have another sister!" He rushed by her to the door, but it wouldn't open. As he turned and yanked at the doorknob, Brigitte finished undressing._

_ He turned. She put her arms around his neck, kissed him fiercely and licked his chest, rubbed against him, smearing her naked body with his blood. _

_ "Stop!" he cried. He pushed her away, just as he had Ginger, but Brigitte only fell back a few steps. His voice turned threatening. "Brigitte, I want the key. Now!"_

_ She laughed. "Did you see me lock the door? It locks from the inside. There's no key." _

_ She went by him, opened the door effortlessly and shut it. He tried it, and again it wouldn't open. When he turned toward her, he had a cute, terrified look that matched the scent of fear she inhaled now. _

_ He trembled. "How did you do that?" _

_ Her smile had predator's fangs, and she circled him. "I'm God. And this is my heaven and your hell." _

_ He jumped on the bed and grabbed the window, but it wouldn't open, he beat on it, but it wouldn't break. He yelled, but nobody heard. When all else failed, he tried to lift her out of the way, but her body wouldn't come off the floor._

_ "You've already tried the door, anyway," she said. _

_ Finally, in panic he started hitting her. She moved her head with the punches and slaps, but otherwise, they didn't affect her. _

_ Brigitte grinned, "Finally fighting! I knew you had it in you!" _

_ With a touch of her forefinger, he flew back hit the wall and landed on the bed._

_ Her claws and fangs grew, and her spine crackled. With his sudden combativeness, and his blood-slathered scent, she could no longer resist him. Brigitte lunged and landed on him. Sam had no time to respond as she growled and grabbed him, digging her claws in. She tore his clothes as he cried out. Then, she let him get on top and start to choke her, so he would think he could win. _

_ Brigitte stopped the fake coughing, open her eyes, which now had orange canine irises and said, "Don't worry. I don't want sex. I want your heart." With one paw she snapped his arm. The crack made her passion roar from deep in her belly, as did his screams and smell of his pain. She got back on top, straddled him. Brigitte clawed his chest and took the first fresh taste of his blood, which heightened her arousal and enticed her; she felt herself flushing and ached deeply. She held her paw on his throat._

_ Her hips and spine snapped and shifted, and every pop of bone, every shift in her flesh was not painful as she feared, but a sweet, euphoric release. Her hide tingled as fur sprouted. The changes spread to her shoulders, neck, legs and everywhere else. Her face reshaped until she could see her snout. He was reduced to total panic now. His screams heightened her to a new orgasm. She she bit deeply into his neck, tasted hot blood spurting through her mouth, down her throat. It was full of life and energy, and it fueled her climax into overdrive, while her changes accelerated. _

_ Brigitte released his throat and sat up. Blood splattered and sprayed explosively all over her, the furniture, the walls and even the windows. She roared, hit her final orgasm while she grabbed his rib cage and crushed it. In the aftermath, she picked up, sliced and battered his limp body. _

_ He died as she descended from her long series of climaxes, and now she desired his heart. She slammed her claw into his chest and began tearing, with sloshing, cracking sounds. With her other claw, Brigitte cracked the ribs, tore his sternum out, throwing it aside. The werewolf found his heart and clawed through the arteries attached and bit into it, the way she used to enjoy a caramel apple._

_ Then, an excruciating stab hit her from behind and impaled Brigitte's heart. She froze paralyzed as her unseen attacker pulled her up by her ears, twisting the knife. Brigitte could not breathe. Then her head was forced around to see her foe, and Ginger's half-lupine face leered at her. How? She herself was the goddess here! Ginger pulled the knife out and put it to Brigitte's throat. With no strength now, she felt her life ebbing away. _

___"_Bee . . . Bee . . . !"

_ "Well, you always wanted to be me!" said Ginger. The knife sliced deep across Brigitte's throat._

_ Ginger cut her throat . . . _

"BRIGITTE . . !"

She woke up choking and crying. Through tears she saw Ginger right above her, but she was not the person Brigitte could look at immediately.

"Bee, it's over. It was just a nightmare."

"No . . . it wasn't _just_ a nightmare," she cried out, anguished. "It's what I'm . . . becoming!"

Brigitte sobbed, feeling shattered and corrupted. She snapped her shoulders, spine and hips back into joint and sat up, wiped the tears out of her eyes as they kept flowing.

In actuality, Brigitte had struggled to wake herself as soon as she realized it was a dream, but she had failed, leaving_"God"_ in control of it. Now she found her genitals soaked, confirming the odious pleasure it had given her. It did not matter to her that it was "just" a dream. It was also a dream of the most spirit-wrenching moment of her life, and her freakish actions were still her choice, her pleasures. She hated what she did, and the way she first used and then murdered Sam. She felt diabolical and foul at the core.

She got up, went to the bathroom and vomited up yellow liquid, though not blood, and she was thankful for that. She washed her face, dried herself, took out her pad, which, to her puzzlement, _was clean._ The bleeding had stopped. She knew that was wrong, but everything was wrong now_. _Replacing it just in case, she made a cursory check of her face in the mirror, but was too listless to make any close check. She blew her nose, which was completely stuffed up.

The medications had, as promised, taken away her aggression like magic, but they also left her feeling depressed. Quickly after first taking them, she became very drowsy, much more than with the tranquilizer. The staff had excused her from therapy and activity sessions for the day. She had meals with June but was hardly awake enough to converse. Laura got her up in the evening to shower, where she was so listless, it took her almost two hours. Now it was early the next morning, the next day? _Must be_. She hoped the drugs would take away the nightmares, too, but that hope was unfulfilled, at least the first night. Brigitte wandered to the window and looked out.

Ginger sitting on the bed behind her said, "I had nightmares in the last week, too, you remember? I don't know what you did in the dream, but it wasn't really you, Bee."

_It's what I'm becoming!_

Brigitte continued to cry. She ignored Ginger for a moment and gazed at the fields and hills covered with snow in the dim light before dawn. Further away, an evergreen forest was visible. She yearned for a vast expanse to dissolve herself in, and mainly feared now that if she did not get out soon, people would find out what she was and would kill her. To Brigitte, somehow the idea was not just frightening but insulting. Here she also realized that she no longer thought of it as her curse, or her disease, but as what_ she was._

"Did you ever dream about committing a murder-rape?" asked Brigitte, turning back to Ginger, who sat leaning back on the bed.

"Dream about it?" Ginger laughed, bitterly. "I did it."

"What?"

Ginger looked away, "Well, not both at once, but I would have done that. I just didn't have the time."

Brigitte guessed that Ginger perhaps had concealed something about her date with Jason, but Brigitte had something else on her mind now.

"Why did you try to fuck Sam?" asked Brigitte.

There was accusation in her tone that shocked Ginger. _You made me like this, you bitch. Forcing me to drink Sam's blood!_

Ginger stood up, surprised. "Bee, I was crazy."

"I know you were, Ginge, and I forgive you because of that. But I need to know what you thought you were doing."

Ginger looked down and thought before finally saying, "I did it because I didn't kill you."

It was not the answer Brigitte anticipated, nor was it one she could believe immediately.

"What do you mean?" asked Brigitte.

"When you said . . . you'd rather die than be what I was . . . I felt so crushed! Especially right then, Bee. Yeah, forgive me, but I wanted to kill you right there. I thought of forcing the curse on you, too. But no. As my sister, you told me your wish, and my last act as your sister was to respect it."

Brigitte was surprised at the level of pain in Ginger's voice. Even if Ginger knew she had been insane, Ginger's feelings over it were still strong.

She continued, her voice getting louder with tension, "But I just couldn't let it go, and I knew I had only a short time left. You abandoned me knowing what I was facing . . . and told me I was repulsive! I had to hurt you for that!"

"Ginge, that's not exactly what happened," said Brigitte. "You told me you were looking forward to it, that it was wonderful, and that it had made you a 'fucking force of nature,' and that you didn't want to be human like I was any more."

Ginger stopped stunned, examining Brigitte closely. "I did?"

"You don't remember it like that?" asked Brigitte. "You really don't?"

"No," said Ginger. "I don't. But I do remember that I told you that you wouldn't be safe with me anymore unless you were infected, too."

Now it was Brigitte's turn to be stunned. "No. That was not the way you put it. You said I would love it, we should swap blood, and I should come along with you. We would have our own pack."

"I did?" said Ginger, she shook her head. "No, I don't remember saying any of that. Well, I guess I _was_ insane." Ginger smiled pleadingly. "June told me yesterday that being crazy is having your mind lie to you. Guess she's right."

This was so unlike the headstrong and sometimes bossy Ginger that Brigitte remembered. She had expected to fight Ginger over their different versions of events, but to Ginger's credit, she seemed to accept easily that she had not remembered things as they happened.

"It's all right, Ginge, I understand now. But I was hurting, too, from what you said."

"I understand now, too," said Ginger.

Brigitte continued, "With Sam, were you like trying to make him your mate, then?"

Ginger laughed derisively. "No! How did you get that idea, Bee? I was going to fucking kill him."

"So, why did you try to fuck him first?"

"Well, there was the very fucking obvious," she said, laughing again. "He was hot, and I was horny enough for a gang-bang. Conveniently, I wanted to prove to you what a sleazebag he really was, that he would cheat on you with your sister. Once I proved that, he was fucking dead."

"Why did you tell me you were going there?" asked Brigitte.

Ginger was getting tears in her eyes, "I have to admit, it was sort of a dare, but really a trap. I warned you to stay out of my way. If you showed up, you would have . . . it would have felt like fair game to kill you, Bee, but I wanted you to see him for the shit he was first. I didn't expect you would show up with a change of heart about our pact."

"It also didn't occur to you he would turn you down, either," said Brigitte, smugly; she had stopped crying. She went over to sit on the bed. Ginger sat next to her.

"Oh, fuck, Bee, that was only because I no longer looked human. He was in his twenties. You were only fifteen. He already fucked Trina and threw her away, and look at how she went crazy . . ."

"He did not fuck Trina!" said Brigitte indignantly.

"Bullshit. But . . . what if he didn't? Then look at how he drove her crazy just by teasing her then. With mean-bitch Trina that was almost justice. But Bee, you were sensitive anyway, and a twenty-something good-looking loser like him could have mentally fucked you up for the rest of your life- just by accident."

"You sound just like Pamela," said Brigitte.

"I do not," said Ginger, annoyed. "Pamela wasn't this smart. Don't you think that if things went better, you would have ended up with a huge crush on Sam? Be honest."

Before Brigitte could answer, Ginger suddenly said, "By the way, what happened to him anyway?"

"You killed him," said Brigitte, through the lump in her throat.

"Oops, didn't see that one coming," Ginger said with dispassionate irony.

"Ginger!"

"I'm sorry, Bee," she said, trying to make it sincere. "I hated anything that could have hurt you. And he was full of hurt for you."

What could Brigitte really say? She had just killed Sam fifteen minutes ago, herself. She realized, though, that this subject could not go anywhere good, so she switched. "Ginge, you know the only reason I mixed blood with you was . . ."

"Yes, I know, get me to cooperate with you. You're so practical, Bee. I guess it must have worked."

"To an extent," said Brigitte, bitterly. "But I was sincere about it. I always believed our bond was eternal, pact or not."

"You know you were lucky when you showed up? I was so close to changing then and was pretty fucking confused, otherwise . . . Bee, right then I was willing to kill you on sight," she said, ashamed.

"Nobody was lucky that night, but it's okay, Ginge."

It was now sinking in with Brigitte that if her sister had succeeded with Sam, their tryst would have looked very similar to Brigitte's nightmare. Maybe having tasted Sam's blood had nothing to do with what a freak she was becoming? Maybe this was all "normal" for a werewolf?

_No, blood turns me on now._

"Now, my turn, Bee. How did I die?" asked Ginger.

Brigitte said, "First, Ginge, I can't believe you really don't remember anything that happened after we mixed blood."

"Bee, I promise, that _is_ the very last thing I remember," said Ginger. "You said, 'now I am you.'"

Nevertheless, Brigitte could not believe her. Even after the final transformation, Brigitte knew there was something left of Ginger in that werewolf. Not only did it intimately know their room, but Brigitte distinctly understood it communicating with her, _as Ginger,_ telling her to lap up Sam's blood. Brigitte obeyed, and she had no choice about it for a few minutes. It had been like a command. She wondered if, in its own twisted way, the werewolf was trying to renew the bond? Otherwise, what did sharing Sam's blood mean? Sam had been still alive. The werewolf did not kill him. He had been healing. Did the werewolf mean to form all three of them into a pack? Or was it some kind of sick quasi-ritual that married them both to him? It angered her to realize she would never have the answers from Ginger.

_You twisted me the moment you made me taste Sam's blood. _

"Now, Bee, please, please, no more delays. Tell me, how did I die?" asked Ginger, waiting.

Brigitte had no inkling of why this question would be so important to the ghost of her sister. And so, at that moment, with an already insane sense of mercy blinding her to her own vindictiveness, Brigitte did the coldest, most calloused thing she had ever done to her sister:

"Sam stabbed you," she answered.


	10. Missing Pieces

**Chapter 10:**

MISSING PIECES

_ Eight-year-old June Collier knew the fall would kill her even if she did not know the measure of the height. She stood with her body taut, her feet together on a tree branch, and her back leaned against the trunk. Her right hand clamped a small branch by her head; her left hand cradled a jar with two cicadas that her ten-year-old sister Angie had already caught. The summer air pressed hot and still against her tiny, sweltering body, but any wind providing relief that swayed the tree just an inch would inflict panic on June. Vertigo had hit when she reached this height and looked around, and now it paralyzed her. _

_ Why can't my sister just catch fireflies like everyone else? Thought June. _

_ Two cicadas in this tree buzzed so tortuously loud that June wanted to cover her ears. Angie, who stood further out on the same branch as June, seemingly had no fear of heights and loved flaunting it. She used no handholds walking out further on a branch that was only little more than sixty centimeters (two feet) wide and tapering fast. A very loud cicada had lit further out. _

_ Angie turned back toward June without swaying. _

_ "Come on," June did not really hear her above the noise, but she thought that's what Angie must have said. June could barely even even shake her head "No way!" so much had her body stiffened in fear for her sister. There were absolutely no handholds above the branch where Angie stood, nothing to catch herself with. _

_ Angie looked annoyed, put her forefinger to her lips in the "be quiet" gesture, and then turned to walk out further._

_ "Be quiet?" thought June. "The darned bug couldn't hear us over its noise!"_

_ The bug sat noisily on a twig coming off a side branch. Angie crouched and reached out for the creature, causing adrenaline to surge through June's muscles. It looked unbelievably dangerous. _

_ How can she look down like that?_

_ Angie grabbed and missed it. The huge insect flew into her eye, and then buzzed, sending all those blaring decibels right through her eyeball. She screamed, stood bolt upright, and toppled off the branch. _

_ Faster than thought, June unfroze and lunged. She caught her sister's ankle with both hands, landing heavily on her chest with her legs locked around the branch. Pulled upside down, she felt the snap-force wrench painfully through her arms, shoulders, and back, yanking her legs loose. It bought the split second for Angie to catch another branch, to her right herself, and slow her fall as she grabbed other branches and twigs going down. _

_ Both girls fell flailing and screaming through through the branches. June grabbed at them herself but was buffeted like a pinball. She hit her head and was lucky for once that she was small and light. Finally she landed on her back seeing stars. Everything hurt as she tried to cry, but she couldn't make a sound, she couldn't even inhale. Meanwhile, Angie had landed squarely on her feet. _

_ "Oh, shit!" said Angie, her hand over her eye looking at the broken jar. "My cicadas!"_

_ As though on cue, one of those insects lit on June's face by her lip. With her mouth open trying to breathe, she felt hysterical that it could crawl down her windpipe. _

_ Angie said, "June, don't move!" June tried to hold still as Angie grabbed at the cicada, but instead punched June in the lip; the insect flew away, Angie tried to go after it, but it had flown out of her reach._

_ "Shit!" said Angie. _

_ ". . . can't breath!" June barely whispered. _

_ Hearing that, and seeing June turning red, it occurred to Angie her sister might be hurt. _

_ "June? Are you okay?" _

_ By now, June had panicked, thinking she was going to die. Her vision was going blue._

_ ". . . can't . . . breath!" her voice was barely audible, and every bit of breath she lost felt like her very life._

_ Angie then realized her younger sister had the wind knocked out of her, and put June's arms up, which put June in excruciating pain . . . _

. . . which she awakened from with relief, while all the vivid pain she re-experienced from that day in her childhood faded. As it had continued, Angie then realized June had broken arm, while June lost her childhood adoration for her older sister with the incident. It would be years before Angie would thank her, citing it as the time that June saved her from a life in a wheel chair.

_ "Wheelchair?" June answered. "I saved your fucking life!"_

Now, June had awakened on her belly instead of her back. This dream of her childhood memory puzzled her more than all the perplexing nightmares previous. After her second nightmare last night, June had prayed, for more than two hours. Then she fell asleep, only to have this normal dream instead, normal, except for its abnormal vividness.

Now to her relief, it was morning. To her annoyance, she had a _non-song_ stuck in her head. June began to roll over, and instantly saw a creepy figure above her in a nightshirt, looking at her with transparent, unblinking eyes and bloody sleeves.

"AHH!" she started. "Bobby, would you mind? Give me five minutes? Please!"

"This is _my_ room!" he said, with unblinking indignity.

"I know Bobby, but . . . I'm your guest." she said, mustering her sweetest voice and most charming smile. "So, please be the gentlemen that you always are and treat me like a lady? I must get dressed."

"Yes, milady. My pleasure."

He walked off and into the wall. His pleasure? June hoped that was not worship she saw in his expression. Probably not. Unlike Ginger, Bobby's facial expressions were somewhat static. She immediately got up to dress. June still had the non-song stuck in her head. It was a bunch of instruments played out of tune: guitar, bass, drums, keyboard, a horn, and a male voice singing flat with lyrics she could not make out. This was ominous to her: a sign of a manic. If the moods took her again with the medications she was on, she was aware her prognosis would not be good. It sounded to her vaguely like soft rock or something archaic, like psychedelia. In a very short time it began to grate on her.

She found to her disgust that she had neglected to do her laundry. With so much fear and sweating over the last two days, she only had one clean pair of underpants, a pair of jeans torn in the knee, and no bras she could use without feeling physically sick. Worse, the only shirt left was a hideous purple and black button-up with frills and wide sleeves. She had not touched it since her brother dropped it off with the rest of her clothes, and was surprised she even had it anymore. She had not worn it since her freshman year and was doubtful it still even fit.

She put her hands on her breasts above her nipples. _Fuck!_ _I'm blessed?_ _These haven't brought me anything but annoyance, misery, creepy looks, resentment from girls, and a couple of asshole boyfriends._ Laundry would have to be the first thing she did.

She dressed hurriedly, wanting to finish before Bobby re-appeared. She wondered about her dream. Prior to having it, she kept having nightmares, and finally prayed to the "Good God of the Universe," as opposed to any evil ones she thought had to exist. Was the dream the answer? _Could it have been made more cryptic?_ Since she had to concede to some kind of spiritual process now, she was officially a believer. In what, she had not decided, but she would choose carefully. Prior to Brigitte showing up, she had already reread the King James Bible available in Four Point. She had found it impossible to believe. Any of it. Now she still considered all of it extremely unlikely. Yet, spiritual processes were officially undeniable

_ I'm a medium. No wonder I used to see freaky people in grave yards. _

Finished dressing, she brushed her teeth and began the unpleasant task of de-tangling and combing her hair, which had grown wild in the last month. She decided to sit on the bed for the long detangling process done mostly with her fingers.

Yesterday, after Brigitte had conked out, June spent much time in her own room talking to Ginger, and learning as much about the sisters and lycanthropy as she could. Ginger, the spirit, was so different than Bobby. Bobby was never visible for more than fifteen minutes at a time and thirty minutes a day tops, while Ginger could be around for hours. June could sit down and talk to Ginger as though she were a person. Bobby sometimes became confused or lethargic, or, worse, began to wail. He also had little in the way of facial expressions. He never sat down, never laid down as Ginger did, but always stood. So, the ghost of Ginger was somehow much more robust than Bobby, if robust were the right term to use for dead people.

_ Why the differences?_

June learned much from picking Ginger's brain, but unfortunately there were terrible gaps in her knowledge, including what could be done to treat or cure lycanthropy. Most importantly, Ginger did not know if the person would ever change back, but she suspected very strongly that it was irreversible. June realized that, for finding something that really helped Brigitte, she was in a worse position than Brigitte had been with Ginger. There were no books on the subject, no drug dealer/agronomist to consult. Ginger did know everything about how it was affecting Brigitte's mind. Unfortunately, it was on that topic that their conversation ended badly:

_ "No! That's fucking dumb!" said Ginger, sitting on the bed, her face shocked and furious. "You must fucking promise me you will not tell anybody about Brigitte's illness."_

_ "Even if they could help?" asked June, sitting in the chair after pacing. Her fingers began twisting a lock of her hair. It was a bad habit she broke years before but it had started up again. _

_ "You don't fucking understand, June. Paranoia is part of it. This disease does not want anybody to know that you have it. Brigitte told somebody about it, and I was actually thinking of killing the guy she told and then running off. She was smart enough to say she actually had the problem instead of me, so I didn't do that . . . or anything else so stupid."_

_ "What if I tell somebody who could get her out of here, though?" asked June, who stopped herself from twisting her hair now._

_ "It's fucking unlikely anybody will believe you . . . why are you even thinking it?"_

_ "I know," said June. "Ginger, I'm just checking our options." _

_ Ginger pointed at her with an hazardous-looking claw-nail,"You gained her trust, and you did a miracle with that, but you tell somebody and she realizes it . . . I'm not sure I can protect you from her. You fuckin' understand? I thought you were much smarter . . ."_

_ June stood up and yelled,"It's not like I've ever been in this situation before, Ginger. I'm not a certified werewolf counselor. Or a fucking escape artist!" She kicked the bed next to where Ginger was sitting, Ginger started. "I'm a patient in a fucking mental institution. You two have hit me with a lot." _

_ Surprised, Ginger had not even been aware that June could lose her temper, maybe because she expected June would have lost her shit long before this. _

_ June shouted, "Why is solving this even my problem?"_

_ There was a pause where Ginger looked apologetic, "Because you're the only living person we know who can see it?" _

_ June knew that, and knew it was a matter of her life at stake too, but she felt frustrated, and needed a better answer. _

Sitting in a diner, Lewis slid the picture of Brigitte Fitzgerald across the table to Frank who picked it up curiously.

"She's fifteen in that photo," said Lewis. "She's seventeen now."

"A runaway?" said Frank. "She looks familiar."

"That's because she is," said Lewis. "Remember the Bailey Downs Incident?"

"Where the a mother of two was convicted of a murdering a teenage girl, and her two daughters and a teenage boy disappeared, while three other people got mauled to death by an unidentified wild animal an . . . "

"Yes," said Lewis, cutting him off. "Not a case one easily forgets about when its in the national news. Odd to say the least. She's Brigitte Fitzgerald. One of the two sisters that have been missing since then."

Lewis tasted his coffee to warm himself. He could not tell Frank that Brigitte's sister was most likely dead, and that her body likely decomposed away within an hour at room temperature, except for the bones, some of which would have lasted eight to ten hours, and the teeth which could last one-to-two days. No effort to preserve even a sample of tissue from a fully animalized werewolf had yet been successful. They just had hair and residue.

Frank warmed his hands over his coffee. He was tall, with black hair and striking blue eyes, and was ten years younger than Lewis. Tough and quick like a hockey player, in fact he had been a center in the Junior Leagues who considered turning professional before he changed careers to criminal justice. He used to work for Lewis, and now, as a subcontractor, he was working for him again. Like Lewis, Frank had recently went through a divorce, another thing that made Lewis think he was the perfect candidate for taking over these investigations. He had a good mind, was fast, strong, was in excellent condition and was a crack shot. _He is perfect. _

Starting their search in Dauphin today, they were lucky about the weather. It was supposed to be sunny and would surge up to minus ten degrees Celsius (Fourteen Fahrenheit), plus the wind had died down. However, weather in this area could be more unpredictable than usual, and the forecast was not good after tomorrow.

Frank slipped the picture into a protective cover as he said, "Missing girl case, though, seems too simple. I can't believe you brought me into it."

Lewis sipped his coffee again, which to his surprise was not bad, and he said, "As a material witness, she has successfully evaded authorities for the last two years, and my hunch is if we don't get to her, this case could end up being as convoluted as the Bailey Downs Incident. My employers want us to question her about Bailey Downs before authorities do." Lewis just lied a little.

From the window, the sun began glare off the snow into Lewis' eyes. It was to be a sunny day, making sunglasses essential. He called the waitress and asked her to close the blinds. He looked around. The diner had warm yellow lights in contrast to the harsh white of the sun glaring on the snow outside. Just enough of the brief summer remained in here to make the glare and cold edges outside tolerable.

"At least the drive up was worth it, very scenic," said Frank. "What leads do you have?"

Lewis handed him Brigitte Fitzgerald's library record. "We know at midnight a week ago she took out several books from Regional Library and ordered a few more. So, I want you to start there."

"And where will you go?" asked Frank.

"I'll start by speaking with an old friend, an inspector on the force here, have his men keep an eye out for her, and see if she has any arrests. We don't know how she has been supporting herself on the margins so long, but not too many legal options seem plausible to me."

The waitress, a blond haired women in her forties, came out with their food. She put two omelets and a short stack down in front of Frank, and an order of plain scrambled eggs and toast in front of Lewis. Frank picked up the fork, while Lewis stopped to whisper a prayer, for which Frank put the fork back down, but did not fold his hands or bow his head. Lewis finished, and they both picked their forks up and began to eat.

"Any special instructions?" asked Frank, a piece of omelet on his fork.

"Yes," said Lewis. "First, we absolutely have to find her, and if we pick up her trail, we cannot lose it. Our employers have deemed that this case will not end until she is found. Second, remember, Frank, she's not a suspect, but a witness, and she has suffered trauma. Be as gentle as you can with her."

"Okay," said Frank. He chewed and swallowed his omelet. "Anything else?"

"Yes," said Lewis. "Most important: if you do see her, do not approach her yourself. Call me first and keep tabs on her until I get there."

"Wait," said Frank. "You just said she's not a suspect, but now I'm not supposed to approach her alone? What is she? Armed and dangerous?"

"No, just that I must be the one to talk to her first," Lewis replied, evasively. "I know how to gain her trust, and that's important here."

_ Not really a lie, _thought Lewis.

The non-song was still stuck in June's head as she looked at herself in the murky mirror. She had apparently gone up a cup-size or two since she last wore this shirt. She could hardly button it, and her boobs were _so_ obvious now. _Shit!_ She would put a sweater on over it, but without a bra her nipples would be conspicuous, too. _Fuck!_ _I'm a freak. _They would bounce as well, unless she walked with baby steps. It made her wish she could stay in her room today. _No hiding them for a few hours. Fuck! _

She was glad no boys would be around, but there were exceptions that made her uneasy: a few medical techs and the boys in group therapy. She knew Helen would say something cute and ignorant, and would probably have her eyes glued to them. June knew she would be uncomfortable until her laundry got done.

"Shit!" she said.

"How vulgar!" said Bobby startling her. She could not see him in the mirror and had to turn around. She was relieved that there was no gawkiness in his look.

"You have been ill-tempered of late." His bookish, English accent always sounded absurd to her. It sounded funnier than Graham Chapman in The Holy Grail. She was surprised people anywhere once talked like that. At least Bobby did not seem to notice her misshapen chest. Maybe in over a hundred years he had lost all sexual feelings.

"Sorry, I haven't been able to sleep, Bobby, and it's beginning to do bad things to me," she said, turning to him again and listening to the non-song still stuck in her head. Dr. Loraine had warned at how irregular sleep could push her mood into a manic, but it had been almost impossible to sleep peacefully knowing about Brigitte and Ginger. In the dim light of the bathroom, she could see bags under her eyes.

"Do they not give you laudanum?" Bobby asked.

"Uh, the face of medicine has really changed since you were alive," said June.

Bobby looked blank. Maybe the "face of medicine" was not an expression in his time? So she added, "They no longer give laudanum to people. Opium is illegal."

She almost laughed at how startled he looked. He did register _some_ facial expressions.

"Egad! Opium was the only thing that got me through the day," he said. June did not doubt that. Tuberculosis sounded like a slow, torturous way to die. For Bobby, who was just twenty-five years old, it sounded to have punctured an artery earlier than usual. Right now, he appeared with dark blood running from his nose and dried blood on his sleeves.

She noticed that Bobby was weakening fast, becoming more transparent and getting dimmer. She thought about her nightmare, the night before and hurried to ask him, "Are there other spirits in this building, Bobby?"

"Yes, many others that haunt this place; there is much pain and woe here," he said making a sniffling sound.

"How come I can't see them, too?" she asked.

"They haunt the other wings. Sometimes I hear them crying at night. They will wander here, too, but not too often." he said and coughed. "This wing was not for the sickest. I, nonetheless, died in this room."

Almost on cue, June then felt giddy and chilled momentarily. She looked toward the window and then by the door. Ginger stood in front of the latter and looked at June, saying, "June? Well, good morning, I guess," Ginger walked toward her. "I just . . ."

With a scream, Ginger leaped back two feet- actually, she teleported back two feet. "JEESUS FUCKING MARY ON A BICYCLE!" she cried. Ginger had spotted Bobby.

June's voice choked on surprise, fear and laughter. The ghost had seen a ghost and was terrified. June guffawed when her mind processed what Ginger had just yelled. Bobby's usually expressionless face registered major shock, and even fear.

"What is this creature?" said Bobby. "And what is it doing in my room?"

"I didn't mean to . . ." said Ginger, frozen.

"Ginger, that's Bobby. Remember I mentioned him?"

"Uh, yeah, I . . . don't think I really got the picture," said Ginger.

"Does this come from Hell?" asked Bobby.

Stung, Ginger said acerbically, "I was about to ask you the same thing about him."

It occurred to June that since Ginger had claws, fangs, an obvious tail, and a creatively dirty mouth, "from Hell" would have been a predictable conclusion for Bobby, who, in life, had been devout.

"No, she's not from Hell, Bobby. This is Ginger, and she's another. . . ghost."

"And what about her animal teeth and claws and that an incantation?"

"That wasn't an incantation, Bobby," said June. "She just has a sailor's mouth and a good imagination."

June was relieved to see that Bobby was running out of energy. He was more transparent now than he had been just the previous minute. She did not want to witness a struggle between two spirits right now, curious though she was. Ginger, apparently feeling the same way, turned to her.

"June, just please take me to my sister," she turned to Bobby. "I didn't mean to trespass, I just appeared in your fucking room without a choice. I'm sorry."

Apparently it was not going to be a problem right now. Because Bobby continued to fade, and his voice was losing volume as it said, "Milady, beware of her, she is a lost soul out of Hell . . ."

"Bullshit!" cried Ginger, who turned to June and yelled, "You don't believe him, do you? He's a liar!"

To June's relief, Bobby was gone then, but Ginger was enraged and shaken. She swept her claw in a wide circle, and it went through the wall like air.

"Of course I don't believe him, Ginge. But he's not a liar," said June. She could see Ginger was still upset and looked at June dubiously. "He just thought that because of your fucking dirty mouth and your claws and shit, but he's wrong about you."

Ginger looked anguished. "Really? He doesn't know anything?"

"No, he doesn't Ginger. He didn't know what he was talking about. I mean, think about your teeth and stuff, and what you shouted? He's from the nineteenth century. He was a divinity student. Can't you see he just guessed wrong?"

Ginger looked unconsoled. She sank into a sitting position, on nothing, and looked ready to cry. "What is it, Ginger?"

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm being punished . . . for what I did to Bee."

It was a tone June had not heard from Ginger, an anguish that hadn't surfaced from her before. The sound of it thickened the inside of June's throat.

Ginger continued, "It's awful watching how it's twisting her, and I'm helpless, just as she was. I'm in the same position she was. Doesn't it sound like I'm being punished?"

"Ginger, what do you think you did?" It was painful to see this anguish in Ginger. The tuneless music in June's head changed tempo. The rhythm was still a ruin, though.

"A lot, it could have been a half dozen things I did; I was so terrible to her in that last month, but I'm afraid I did something far worse than I can remember. Even though Brigitte told me everything, I still feel like that- maybe she didn't."

"Ginger, you weren't sane. You didn't know what you were doing, and you couldn't help yourself," said June. "What god would punish you for being sick?"

"Any god that creates werewolves would punish you for being one," said Ginger, looking up, her fangs gritted together frightfully.

"You're wrong," said June. "That's not why you're here."

"I hope not," said Ginger.

"No," said June, the tuneless song still playing in her head. "That's definitely not why you're here!"

"You know this?" begged Ginger.

"Yes," said June, in complete honesty. "I know this."

She immediately had second thoughts. _I didn't just pull that out of my ass, did I? – No! _

Though June felt she was forced to stretch a point, and she regretted not knowing how she could know, she would have said that to Ginger again if she had to. The messed up tune in her head reached some transition again, with all notes either too flat or too sharp. Maybe the indiscernible off-key lyrics were subliminal, telling her unconsciously why Ginger was here?

June recalled then, for some reason, the exact moment she dived on the branch to save Angie.

"Good," said Ginger. "Because if I'm here to be punished, it means that Brigitte is fucked . . . and because of me!"

Ginger appeared to be recovering, to June's relief, because June had no reassurances to offer about Brigitte. She thought Brigitte to be destined to change, and right now, she would not tell Ginger anything different.

"No. Ginger, Bobby has no more knowledge of anything than you do. In fact, less. He's been stuck in here for a hundred-twenty years."

Ginger then added, "Oh, tell me I don't look like _him _do I?"

"No, no Ginger, you don't look anything like him. You're skin has color, your eyes look alive, and you're like talking to somebody who's alive." More to herself than Ginger, June added, "You're remarkably different, really."

"Good," said Ginger. "So, can you take me to Brigitte?"

"Okay, just let me get my shoes on first," said June.

June sat on the bed and she began to put on her shoes with the Velcro, her breasts dangled downward onto her thighs.

"So . . . what are you going to be doing today?" asked Ginger.

June looked up. Ginger had crouched down gazing at her.

"What are you looking at?" asked June.

"Sorry," said Ginger, averting her eyes, embarrassed.

June sighed, and said, "Okay, first, I was going to see the social worker. I'm going to have him look into whether keeping your sister here involuntarily is even legal. It might solve the whole problem."

Done with her shoes, June walked to the dresser to get her sweater. Ginger still gazed at her oddly.

June was afraid to ask her why and continued quickly, "They weren't in yesterday. On smoke break, I looked at some of the windows up there. They do open and it might be possible to get your sister out through one of them. But they're on the second floor, the only access we have is during a smoke break, and we're really supervised then."

June had pulled on the sweater, and, walking to the bathroom, began to button it in front of the terrible mirror. "There's also a third floor, but I know nothing about it. Hard to check on it during smoke break. They really watch us, but I think I can get some interference."

"Then you're really working on it," said Ginger. "Thank you."

"I haven't done anything yet," answered June. "They have your sister and I together for both groups this afternoon," June continued. "I hope those meds are really working on her."

"Groups?" asked Ginger.

"Yeah, group therapy, four hours worth," said June, turning profile. Her nipples did not stick out too obviously now, but she knew if they had even a hint of being erect, guys would shrivel their eyeballs staring, and too frequently her nipples had a lot more than a hint of it.

"This place is really a fucking pain," said Ginger.

Her sweater now buttoned, June turned to face Ginger. "Yes, I'm just tired of it! Been here a fucking month! I want out so bad . . ."

June noticed something obvious about Ginger, and immediately felt stupid for missing it for two days. She felt like a bungling detective who misses the obvious, case-breaking clue on the first page and spends five hundred more trying to solve the case.

"Ginger," she said, disbelieving, "Is that a skull you're wearing?"

Ginger giggled nervously, looked down and took it in her hand. "This . . . yeah. A raven's skull. Brigitte and I both used to wear them."

"You both? And . . . it's part of a necklace?"

June just continued to stare at it as her spine tingled. How _had_ she missed that before? Maybe seeing a ghost with claws and fangs, and with a werewolf sister had mentally overloaded her. It did not occur to her that something about the sisters might have been amiss before the werewolf attack.

"Brigitte still has both of them . . ." Ginger said, then paused, apprehensive.

"Here?" asked June, knowing the staff carefully went through belongings whenever a new patient arrived.

"No, not here, at Bee's motel room," Ginger was clearly worried.

"Why did you wear them?"

"Well, they showed we were wicked, and they were symbols of our pact," Ginger paused. "And . . . they, like, kept other kids at a distance."

"I bet they did," said June. "When and where did you get them?"

"We were eight-years-old vacationing in Algonquin Park. There was an Indian Powwow happening there. This Indian woman selling stuff really thought my hair was pretty, and she only had this one pair of these necklaces. She said that they were real, and they were a set. She showed them to Brigitte and I without Pamela and dad seeing, and I thought they were so cool. We bought both for three dollars total."

The skull looked fragile to June. "And you wore them- for seven years?"

"Oh, no." said Ginger. "We couldn't let mom or dad see them. We'd sometimes take them out and wear them when we were alone, usually for play."

"Usually for play?"

"We used to play like we were evil witches," said Ginger.

"Oh, I see," said June, not really seeing.

"In my last year, we started wearing them all the time."

"Could you hold it out to me so I could see it closer?" asked June.

"As long as you don't touch it, or me," warned Ginger.

"I won't," but June noticed how tense Ginger's expression and posture looked as she stood up and drew nearer. As June tried to look closer, the necklace simply became more transparent.

"Fuck," said June. "It's no use, I can't see it any closer," Ginger backed away with relief as June thought of something else.

"Ginger, let's try something, Take one of your rings off."

"Why?" said Ginger.

"Please, I want to see what happens," said June.

Ginger reluctantly took a ring off her right index finger. It appeared solid to June.

"Now drop it," said June.

"What?" said Ginger. "I don't want to lose this."

"Please Ginger. This is important."

"Hmmm, okay." She dropped it. Once it left her hand, it disappeared, never hitting the ground.

"Fuck, I hope I get that back!" said Ginger.

"I'm somehow certain you will. Now, Ginger, try taking off the necklace."

Ginger looked appalled. "What? No!"

"Come on, Ginger, please."

"Fuck, no!"

"Ginger, please, this could be really important."

Ginger said angrily, "Tell me what do you think is going to fucking happen if I do, June?"

"Sorry, I absolutely have no idea, Ginger. Why do you think something bad might happen to you if you take it off?"

Ginger looked embarrassed and said reluctantly, "Because Brigitte and I swore our blood oath on them."

"What?" exclaimed June, stunned.

"It seemed wicked at the time," said Ginger, smiling with embarrassment. "And we liked to play evil witches then."

It now dawned on June that anything that appeared normal about the Fitzgerald sisters prior to their werewolf encounter was probably deceiving.

Lewis sat in the middle of the Dauphin police station across a desk from his old Army friend, Inspector Arthur Hall. There were eight other officers and a few clerks in the room at their own desks or stations. Every one of them had a desktop computer except the desk he and Arthur sat at, which had a laptop. Arthur gazed at the picture of Brigitte just handed to him.

"You say she was involved in that mess in Bailey Downs?" asked Arthur, looking up with deep brown eyes. Lewis was surprised that his old friend was going bald already, but besides that, it was the same meticulous, impeccably neat person Lewis remembered after twelve years.

"Yes, the Bailey Downs incident, as you know had a lot of loose ends. She could tie them up."

To Lewis' surprise Arthur called to the front of the room. "Hey, Joey?"

A plain-clothed officer by the front window answered back, "Yes, inspector?"

"Pull the file on that Jane Doe we found last week," said Arthur.

"Yes inspector."

Jane Doe? Found? Lewis did not like the sound of that. In police work, nobody stayed a Jane Doe for a solid week if the outcome had been good.

"Jane Doe?" said Lewis. "You mean she's dead?"

"No, Lewis, I'm not even sure it's her. Wait until Joey pulls the file and you'll see why."

Lewis felt a little relieved. A "Jane Doe" type case would be bad luck.

Lewis' cellphone vibrated. He turned to Arthur and said, "It's my partner, I have to take this. Is there an office I can use?"

"My office," Arthur said and pointed at a door as Lewis answered.

"Yes Frank?" Lewis said, reaching the door.

"I'm at the library," said Frank. "She hasn't checked out any more books. Nobody on the day shift here knows anything about her. So, I'm going to be visiting the night shift people today and asking them."

Lewis said, "But that's not why you're calling me." It was very much unlike Frank to call and report nothing.

"No, there is something. A librarian on the night shift disappeared, and on the same night the Fitzgerald girl made her last check-out. A Jeremy Cain. Twenty-three years old."

"You're right, that _is_ interesting," said Lewis, disturbed. "I'll check to see if there's some connection. Is there anything else?"

"No, that's it Lewis, but I'll let you know when anything turns up."

Lewis emerged from the office and walked back to the middle desk where Arthur sat. When he sat down, Arthur slid a file folder over to him.

Lewis wanted to open it immediately but stalled long enough to ask Arthur, "Do you have any reports about a missing person? A Jeremy Cain?"

"Yes, he's been missing for a week; how did you know about that?"

"Turns out it might tie in with my case. I'll tell you how in a second," said Lewis.

He opened the file and immediately the picture within struck him, of a female with a swollen blue face and with a large white splotch on her left cheek. Her eyes closed, her lips blue, she lay in a hospital bed. He recognized the complexion of severe hypothermia and frostbite. She had the right color hair to be Brigitte Fitzgerald, but all else was uncertain. He looked up at Arthur quizzically.

"No, she wasn't dead," said Arthur. "A grocer found her in an alley unconscious. We were having a snowstorm that night with high wind and far below-zero temperatures. Her coat wasn't even on. She was exposed to the cold all night, and as you can see, there's no way to tell if she's the same person as your Fitzgerald girl. They took her to Regional in critical condition. She didn't gain consciousness for five days. And . . . during that time, nobody else inquired about her. No friends, no family."

Lewis quickly noted that she couldn't be infected if she suffered hypothermia. _Unless she was taking monkshood . . . _

"That's just horrible. Any recent word on her condition now?" said Lewis.

Arthur looked frustrated, putting his palms up in an empty gesture.

"Then, on Monday, Regional reported her missing."


	11. Finding Purpose

**Chapter 11:**

FINDING PURPOSE

June stood at Brigitte's door. Ginger, no longer behind her, was apparently already inside. June knocked.

There was no answer.

"Brigitte?"

"Go away," said a low, rasping voice from within. June could hardly recognize it as Brigitte's.

With a swirl of dizziness, Ginger appeared next to her.

"I was calling you!" Ginger screamed. "Didn't you hear me?" June shook her head.

Ginger continued, "She needs help now! Go in."

June opened the door. Light glaring in from the window dazzled her. Brigitte slouched forward on the near side of the bed with her tangled, wild hair totally hiding her face. Her hands dangled between her thighs near the floor. Something was under her feet. June closed the door before the girls in the hall could see Brigitte. The confusing sensory storm June always experienced with Brigitte impaired her from adjusting to the glare.

"I told you to go away," said Brigitte, her voice sobbing.

"Bee, I told her to come in," said Ginger. "You need help."

Brigitte looked up; June could not see her eyes, but just empty black holes. "Fucking too many people trying to be fucking helpful!" Brigitte said, bitterly.

June's eyes adjusted. She began to discern, to her horror and nausea, that Brigitte was naked and was covered in blood. It also covered her bed, and at her feet, her gown and robe lay drenched in a pool of it.

June's mind began to race. _Oh n . . ._

Before June could finish that thought, Brigitte moved with unreal speed, grabbed her by the wrist and pinned her to the wall. Brigitte's body was pressed against her. June's hands tingled from the pressure on her wrists; she saw Brigitte was drooling blood as well, and had bloodshot, desperately tearful eyes, which to June's relief were still quite human and held no hostility toward her, only confusion and terror. The sensory storm almost overwhelmed June at this intimate range, and tuneless, arrhythmic music continued in June's head. confusing her even more. Worse, Brigitte's body exuded an odor that horrified June. Not a stench, no, quite the opposite. It took everything June had just to keep from becoming unhinged.

"You were going to run and tell them! You can't do that!" croaked Brigitte, almost hysterically.

"Don't hurt her, Bee!" cried Ginger, helplessly.

June now gazed at deep gash marks, partially healed, on Brigitte's right breast and more across her abdomen. _It's all Brigitte's blood! _With relief, she knew Brigitte had at least not hurt anybody else and was no longer bleeding. June's terror lessened as she began to feel pity.

"Maybe I was for a second," whispered June. "But I won't now, I promise you, Brigitte. Please, let me go, you're hurting me."

As the grip on June's wrists began to loosen, she could see that Brigitte's body had a thin coat of inhuman hair; it was growing everywhere on her, except her face, top of her neck, hands and breasts. The hairs were lightly colored. There were more streaks in Brigitte's hair, brown and red. Her muscle tone was remarkable, and her jaw line had changed slightly. Most striking to June: Brigitte had grown taller by a few inches at least. The change in her face and height probably would not be noticed by anyone who was not as familiar with her as June, but the streaks would get attention.

Brigitte let her go and stepped away. Now June could see chew marks on both of Brigitte's wrists. _Suicide attempt. _She could hardly believe anybody could do that.

Distance from Brigitte calmed June's senses, and also removed the effect of Brigitte's scent. For June, the sexual arousal it evoked felt horrendous, too much like rape. She almost sank to the floor in relief, but instead leaned against the wall, while the feeling came back to her hands. She averted her gaze from Brigitte to regain her control.

Brigitte had felt aroused and had smelled June's arousal as well. This had blindsided her. Another dreadful and confusing aspect to all the changes going on in her.

For June, it was enough to make her want to run again, when suddenly the music-like noise resolved itself into an actual song, with a male voice, and not one June could remember ever hearing:

A moment of your life for purpose,

To save the suffering, birth the child

Stop the dire beast in its hunger-

Has begun. A weapon only you can find . . .

Then to her frustration, the music stopped in mid-lyric. _All that noise and that's the message? _But it immediately changed June's mind. She would stay.

"Bee, what happened? More nightmares?" asked Ginger.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Brigitte, in anguish.

June's mind raced. The staff also had a standard procedure with suicide attempts, and June could see Brigitte killing three or four people if they tried to apply it. Also by procedure they check on patients every half-hour. Likely, Brigitte was due for a check any time now.

June, still averting her eyes, said: "They're going to be checking on you soon, Brigitte. They can't find you like this."

June ran to the bathroom, started the water, wet a wash cloth and then quickly scrubbed the blood off her wrists and arms. "Come on!" she said. "Clean up your face and arms first! Move!"

Brigitte moved not with supernatural speed, but like a depressed person.

"Brigitte, hurry!" June urged.

Brigitte was, in fact, recovering. Having company of two people she trusted helped. Being isolated with depression, loneliness and fear had been the worst. As soon as Brigitte got close to the bathroom, June got out. She absolutely could not stand to be in close quarters with Brigitte again.

Ginger, standing next to June said, "Those fucking medications have done this to her!"

"Yeah, but they keep her from killing somebody, too," said June, who checked herself. She noticed her sweater was bloody. "Fuck!"

She took it off and thoughtlessly threw it on the floor. Separating her breasts with her hands, she checked her pants. To her chagrin, they also had blood on them, but it was not nearly as obvious. _With a little distraction, nobody will see it. _She looked back at Brigitte, who was using a wet towel to clean her face.

June said, "Concentrate on anything that's visible when you get dressed. Leave anything else for showering. I'll be right back!"

June left the room. In the hall, she spotted a nurse, Cleo, giving out the morning medications right next door to Brigitte. June calmly went toward the linen carts across the hall, and picked up more towels, linens, a gown, and a robe. She timed it so she would intercept Cleo going toward Brigitte's door.

"Good morning, Cleo! Good to have you back!" June said in her high, sweet voice.

"June!" said Cleo. "I'm surprised you're still in; you look so much better now!"

_ Yeah, you glance right at my nipples as you say that!_

"Just one second, here," said Cleo, "while I get your medications."

"Okay. Your kids over that flu?"

"Yes, couldn't believe how it went through the house. The shots this year were useless."

Cleo opened June's medications and put them one by one in the tiny paper cup as they talked. She then poured water from a dispenser into a separate cup, and handed the pills to June, who checked them carefully before taking them, and then chased them with the water.

"I hope you get out soon. You've made such great progress. Everybody says it," said Cleo, who began to push the cart toward Brigitte's room.

June chimed in, "Oh, Brigitte was down in my room until a couple minutes ago, and she was on her way to the showers."

"Oh," said Cleo. "I guess I'll just have to catch her when she gets out."

Brigitte's being the final room in this hall, Cleo began to turn the cart around.

"Hey, have a good morn," said June.

"Hey, gooday June!"

June decided she had to make a show of it and went toward the bathroom. Cleo would not have have noticed exactly what she was carrying. She went into the bathroom, which was empty, counted to thirty, then re-emerged.

When she did, she was aghast to see that Mandy, a medical tech, was at Brigitte's door ready to knock, holding a clipboard for the bi-hourly check.

* * *

Lewis stood in the alley next to Larry Murray, the grocer who had found the frozen girl. Murray in his late forties, wore a gray jacket and a black aviator's cap. Lewis perceived him as a hard-working man and harried husband.

Luckily, it was just eight degrees below zero Celsius (eighteen degrees Fahrenheit), sunny and with a light wind. Weather you could actually stand in, even if it was a little uncomfortable. The snow in the alley lay barely more than ankle-deep, but much more of it had been plowed to the sides where there were deep piles and drifts.

"I found her right there," said Murray, pointing to the spot on a snow pile about fifteen feet from a dumpster and ten feet into the alley. It was directly across from the back door to Murray's store. "I thought for sure she was dead. I never seen anybody look that blue. She had a lot of frostbite on her face, too."

"Yes, I saw the picture," said Lewis bending over, putting his finger on the exact spot on a snow pile. "Right here?"

"Yah, under there about two feet," Murray said. Lewis took a weighted, yellow flag out of his pocket and put it down on the spot.

"You say she was almost totally buried in the snow?" said Lewis.

"Yah, except for her face and arm," said Murray.

"What about this knapsack?"

"Just like an army bag, really. But it wasn't closed. Things fell out of it when I picked it up. Did she live?"

"I don't know, yet. I'm looking for her. Was there anything else at all unusual?"

Murray shrugged. "There was that mangled dog."

That jolted Lewis. "What? Mangled dog?"

"Yah, over there," Murray pointed to a spot a little closer to the dumpster, not that far away from the flag.

Lewis walked to the spot and pointed. "Here?" he said, still incredulous.

"Yah."

"My God! Not even six feet away from her?" said Lewis outraged. "The report didn't even mention it!" He was stunned at the level of inattention. _How do I bring this up to Arthur?_

Lewis took another weighted yellow flag out of his pocket and put it on the spot.

"What kind of dog?" asked Lewis.

"It was pretty badly tore up to tell for sure," said Murray, "but I think it was a collie mix."

_ Not a small dog- to carry._ "And did the police ask you anything about it?"

"They didn't ask me anything. I think they assumed it was hit by car," he said. "But when the animal people took it away later they said what I already knew: it was killed by an animal, not hit. They said there been a lot of dogs getting killed like by, like, feral dogs."

_ Did they? _"Was it buried in the snow like her?"

"Well, it wasn't covered with snow. Neither were its parts."

"Parts," repeated Lewis. "How badly was it mangled?"

"A few legs and the head were missing. It was opened and all torned up- like mutilated."

"Did you notice any of its blood?" asked Lewis.

"No, it hadn't bled out here," he said. "That would've been obvious."

Lewis paused to consider what it meant. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Murray. That's all the questions I have right now, but I might have more questions later."

"You're welcome. Ya know where I'll be."

Murray walked back to the door of his shop, while Lewis walked out of the alley and back to his car. He went to the trunk and took out a shovel, a broom, a small hand-broom and a gardening spade. He returned to the first yellow flag marking where Brigitte had lain. Lewis now felt complete certainty it had been Brigitte Fitzgerald.

He began to carefully move the snow aside with the shovel. As he got deeper into the pile, he switched to the broom and began to sweep. Further down, he switched to the hand broom, his hands were about numb when he finally found something: an ampule. The liquid inside had not frozen. He managed with some effort to pick it up. With more difficulty, he put it in a small zip-lock pouch, which he sealed. He took it back to the car, along with his implements, which he put back in the trunk.

Getting in in the car, he started it up, turned on the heat and poured some coffee from a thermos. He took a drink of the warming liquid, cupped his hands and blew into them to reduce the numbness. He turned on the stereo and switched it from Frank Sinatra to Depeche Mode drinking his coffee as the car warmed up. When his hands regained their sensation, he turned off the stereo and took the ampule out from the pouch. It contained purple-colored fluid. He unstopped it and smelled it. It gave off an ammonia like smell that numbed the tips of his nostrils. As he expected: monkshood. He put the stopper back, and put it back into the pouch. Then he marked the bag with a number, and made a note in his journal about it, before he carefully put the pouch in his briefcase.

Monkshood: the first thing _the team_ had tried to rescue the infected. Yes, it would stop and roll back the changes, but as the person became less animalized, the side-effects would become torturous. When injected into someone infected but not yet intermediate, it caused acute nausea, diarrhea, chilling numbness, chest pains, accelerated heartbeat, palpitations everywhere, biting of one's tongue and lips, disorientation, hallucinations, and usually a feeling like one was going to die. None of the people treated with it had been able to take it for more than two months. He marveled at Brigitte Fitzgerald self-medicating with it for more than two years. This was a young lady who wanted to remain human at _all cost_. This made Lewis feel all the more guilty for assuming she had animalized.

He took out his cellphone and said "Home office." In a few seconds, Hiram answered.

"Hiram?" said Lewis.

"Hello, Lewis," Hiram said, with his voice raspy. "How goes it?"

"Sounds like you have a cold."

"Not at all," said Hiram, clearing his throat. He said emphatically: "Now, how _is_ it going?"

"Not good, Hiram. We're probably too late for her."

There was a pause. "Define 'too late,'" said Hiram.

"She is most definitely infected and was fighting it off with monkshood- _all this time._ But she had an accident that knocked her off her regimen. By Monday, she disappeared from the hospital. Probably she is _intermediate_ now, which might explain why she has disappeared."

"You know that intermediate-stage werewolves always disappear," said Hiram.

"Until the final change, yes. The sole exception was Brigitte's sister, Ginger. And Brigitte strikes me as also being unusual. She fought it off for two years with monkshood: two years, Hiram! So, I'm keeping my mind open about her disappearance, but I have to presume she's intermediate now. You know: psychotic, strong, fast, murderous and well-armed? "

"I see. Lewis, you must find her no later than Saturday at dusk. So, you and your expensive partner must keep digging as fast as you can."

"There is some other bad news, Hiram. We have a fully animalized werewolf stalking her."

There was a pause. "Who is it? Her sister, Ginger?"

"No, a male waiting for her to fully transform. Jason McCarty is likely. We have never accounted for him. He would have followed her scent all the way from Bailey Downs.

"How do you know this, Lewis?"

"For one thing, he left her a nuptial gift. We run the risk of having a mated pair again. I have to insist that Ben keep his distance from this case. The danger here has now grown considerably."

"Not to add to this bad news, Lewis," said Hiram, "but I remind you that the new peak AMEO phase is predicted to begin on Friday approximately one p.m. At that time, the disease can be spread again. It will last for approximately thirteen days."

"Yes, that has been on my mind, too," said Lewis.

"She must be found or we have the possibility of an outbreak."

"I'll pick up her trail again. I'll keep you informed, of course."

"Now is there any other bad news?" asked Hiram. They both paused. "If that's all, Goodbye for now, Lewis."

"Goodbye Hiram."

Lewis then pressed the speed-dial and raised Frank.

"Hello Frank. I need you to drop what you're doing. We have to canvass an area."

Lewis knew Brigitte had packed and left hastily, did not use a car, and had not been in any condition to go very far. She had been staying somewhere close.

* * *

June tried to reach Mandy and interrupt her in time, but Mandy had already knocked on the door before June could take a step. "Brigitte?" she said. She was about to slide the plastic shade open.

June called, making her voice higher and as irritatingly friendly as possible, "Hi, Mandy!"

It did startle Mandy, who looked back at her. "June! Well, good morning."

June tried to rush up and start a conversation, but before she could get there, Mandy had lifted the shade. Brigitte's face, cleansed of blood, was right up to the window.

"Would you mind?" cried Brigitte, irritably. She was holding a towel to her chest and over her shoulders, "I'm getting dressed!"

"Just need to see you," said Mandy, who marked her clipboard. "You missed breakfast, Brigitte. Hurry or you might miss lunch, too."

"Yeah, I know!" yelled Brigitte into Mandy's face. Mandy put the shade back down and scowled before heading back up the hall.

June felt relief and went in as soon as Mandy was far enough away.

She closed the door and leaned on it. Brigitte was in there, and she was sitting on the bed still nude. Her face and arms were clean, but she was crying again. Ginger sat next to her and to June's amazement, actually touched Brigitte lightly on the shoulder. June went to the window sill and put the linens down, as she said. "Good thinking there Brigitte. Get up! We have to clean up this mess, somehow."

June came back around the bed, and neither of them had moved. They both looked at her dumb. She tossed a towel to Brigitte. "Quit looking at my boobs! Dry off all the wet blood and get dressed in your own clothes. Then get to the shower. I'll clean this up and change the sheets before housekeeping gets here."

June turned toward the bathroom, but Brigitte beat her there and faced her.

"Don't you talk that way to me," said Brigitte, suddenly angry. "You think I'm disgus . . . ?"

She hadn't finished the sentence before Ginger was between them, facing toward Brigitte.

"Bee, no. She's doing her best to help you."

_ Where had this come from? _Thought June.

"Why is she talking to me that way?" asked Brigitte.

June moved aside from Ginger, who wasn't going to block Brigitte anyway, and said, "Brigitte, look, if they find this mess, they'll put you under twenty-four hour surveillance in a padded room with a camera on you all the time."

Brigitte's eyes widened.

"Don't worry. We can get this cleaned up! I know you're not thinking straight right now, but do as I say and it won't happen. Just dry off, get dressed and get to the shower."

"Why are you doing all this for me?" asked Brigitte, suspiciously

"Because like your sister, I'm with you for a purpose."

"You are?" said Brigitte.

"I am?" said Ginger, simultaneously.

"Yes, I'm certain of that now," said June.

"What _is_ the purpose then?" said Brigitte.

June sighed, "That's the problem. I might not know it till I blow it."


	12. The Smell of Desperation

**Chapter 12:**

THE SMELL OF DESPERATION

Lewis had just emerged from his car, as Frank came out from the motel office. They met at the sidewalk, where the snow had been removed.

"Room twelve . . ." said Frank, pointing to a door the other side of the lot.

"Frank, whisper." said Lewis, knowing how sensitive Brigitte's hearing would likely be.

Frank looked at Lewis incredulously and whispered, "He cooperated when I told him she's a missing runaway, says she rented at the monthly, off-season rates. He knew her as 'Polly Kilpatrick,' and he hasn't seen her in about a week."

"He hasn't cleaned it out?"

"No, hasn't touched it. Just turned the thermostat down. The rent wasn't due till Friday. He wasn't considering her gone till Monday."

"Is there only one entrance to the unit?" asked Lewis.

"Yes. It's a studio layout."

As Frank handed him the key, Lewis whispered, "Frank, I've uncovered new information. We must presume she's armed and dangerous. She also has a boyfriend. When we knock on the door, have your gun drawn and watch your back."

"What . . ?" said Frank, perturbed.

"If we don't find her here, I'll fill you in on everything." Lewis was uncomfortable at the half-truths on what was now a dangerous case. He had to find a way of telling him soon.

As they approached, Lewis stopped Frank. He pointed to a sedan covered with snow parked front of the room. Of all cars in sight, this was the only one in which the snow had not been removed.

"Worth looking into?" asked Frank.

"Yes, after the room," whispered Lewis.

Reaching the door, they positioned themselves on opposite sides, guns drawn.

Lewis held his Magnum and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. "Polly Kilpatrick?"

He glanced at Frank, then stuck the key in and swiftly unlocked the door. He did not kick it open. Instead, he shoved it open and turned on the light swiftly, falling back into a crouch, gun cocked. He called into the room, "Brigitte?"

Lewis' eyes swept the room, which had a stench. He spotted stalks of dried monkshood lying on the counter with their distinct purple flowers, trembling in the soft, cold breeze that had followed him in. All else was still. At his feet, a hypodermic stuck erect in the carpet. He pointed it out to Frank, who sidestepped it, and checked behind the door. Lewis gestured him to check behind the kitchen counter.

With his Magnum still drawn, Lewis then went and shoved the bathroom door open. Nobody hiding there. He spotted drops of dried blood on the rim of the tub and more on the vanity. There were bloody bandages in the trash can.

He went back out where he met Frank, who said, "It's all clear."

Lewis nodded, "Stay alert."

He un-cocked the Magnum and put it away, while Frank put away his nine-millimeter. They began to put on latex gloves.

"You search the kitchen," said Lewis.

He went back to search of the bathroom, looking first at the tub. A razor stuffed with fur had been left on the rim. Plucking a hair out, he took out a pocket magnifier and studied it. Very inhuman, it had three stripes, black at the bottom, brown in the middle, red at the top, which came to a point. _The body follicles are the first things to change. Monkshood only slows it, never reverses it. _Then he picked up a black oblong case left on the vanity. Inside he found a scalpel. Opening the medicine cabinet, he saw it was stocked with a good supply of bandages and medical tape, and nothing else. No antiseptic, infection was not a concern for a werewolf.

"Lewis!" Frank called.

Frank had found the source of the stench. He held up the waste can. It contained raw animal remains. Lewis reached in and picked up a few bones and could tell from experience that they had been scraped clean and crushed by teeth, the marrow sucked out. There were several small leg bones, ribs, a crushed skull, and some of the hide with brown, black and white fur. Little meat was left on them. At the very bottom Lewis found a tiny collar with a tag. He wished he knew how Brigitte had killed it. Claws and fangs? Or brute strength?

He felt blameworthy and sad. _So Brigitte, you were gaining a tolerance to monkshood. _He could imagine how she must have felt to know it was failing after a wretched twenty-six months. Monkshood seldom took away an _intermediate's_ strength and speed. Though it did much better against the mental changes, which would motivate her to kill a dog.

"What is this? Does she hunt?" asked Frank.

Lewis affected puzzlement. "See if you find anything else over here," he said, changing his gloves. "I have to see what we have around the bed."

He walked to the bedroom side which had a queen-sized bed with two nightstands, each supporting a two-foot tall stack of books. He already had an idea of what she was reading. His attention was drawn to a hard-bound notebook lying face-down on the floor. He picked it up, and it was open to a beautiful picture of the Fitzgerald sisters. They look to have been twelve, with the redheaded Ginger standing profile on the left and Brigitte in the foreground on the right. Strangely enough, neither really smiled. He had seen it before. They were sweet and charming, and if he gazed at it too long, it might cloud his judgment over what he faced now.

_Psychotic, strong, fast, murderous, well-armed . . . and with superhuman senses_.

He then riffled through it to the back and found page after page of handwriting. _A journal!_ He saw that the last entry was nearly a year before, and put it aside for study after the search.

He found another notebook on the dresser, and glanced at it just long enough to figure it out, when Frank called him into the kitchen again. In the refrigerator, Frank had found two vials containing purple fluid.

Lewis popped the stopper off one and smelled it.

"Sniff this," he said.

Frank sniffed and recoiled.

"Phew! About freezes my nostrils. What is it?"

"I'm familiar with it; it's monkshood. Taking it is agonizing and dangerous. She's self-medicating with it."

"Why would she self-medicate with anything like that?"

"Because she believes whatever she has is something far worse. Go look at bathtub," said Lewis.

Frank went into the bathroom and stared at the bathtub. "Was she bathing cats?"

"If so, she was shaving them, too. Look at the razor!" said Lewis. Frank looked at it.

"And look in the trash can."

"Man!"

"Come on out," Lewis said, gesturing.

When Frank came out, Lewis opened the case and showed him the scalpel. Then he picked up the notebook and showed Frank the page with the columns. "She's cutting herself every day . . . and timing how long it takes her to heal."

Frank did not say anything. Lewis continued, "Look at these last entries and how much faster it's getting. And look at the last one. Recognize the date?"

"That's impossible," said Frank. "Four and a half hours? You couldn't heal a scratch in that time."

"Yes, but the point is, she believed it," Lewis indicated the scalpel, "and she was definitely cutting herself to test it."

"She's crazy then," said Frank, gestured toward the needle sticking in the floor. "Addict too. Probably tripping."

"You think she's an addict? Frank, that syringe would be the last dose she took," said Lewis. "She was in such a hurry that when they found her, she did not even have her luggage closed, and it debilitated her so much she couldn't even put her coat on all the way." Lewis bent down and plucked the needle from the floor. He pulled the plunger out with a pop.

"Smell it," he said carefully holding it toward Frank.

Frank very carefully sniffed. "Monkshood?"

"The smell of desperation."

* * *

Brigitte showered and was feeling better, considering she had only three days to live, partially as herself, and it would be spent in this place. What she was beginning to dread, though, was the pain of the final change. Even with her joints loosened, she knew the final change had to be excruciating.

"So, Bee, are you better?" said Ginger, her head over the stall to make sure she was heard. Having seen too much of her sister's nude body in recent days, she did not look directly at Brigitte.

"What do you think?" asked Brigitte, bitterly. "Dumb question, Ginger. I'm dead by Saturday night."

"Um, considering how you felt an hour ago?"

"Well, I'm not going to rip my wrists again. I don't think I was serious, Ginge. You were fucking right, wrists are for girls."

Ginger jumped from the toilet and landed without a sound. "Yeah, I know I was." The ghost leaned up against the stall in grief.

Brigitte could hear and smell June coming into the bathroom. Ginger could see she had a full clothes basket. She took some clothes off the top, unbloodied ones, and pulled out the very bloody ones hidden in the middle wrapped in a sheet. She walked over and passed them to Brigitte under the stall.

"Here!" said June. "Turn on the cold and rinse the blood out, and then ring'em good. I'll be back in with more. Stay in the shower till then."

June went back to the sink and began to wash her hands. "How is she, Ginger?"

"I'm fucking fine!" said Brigitte irritated.

Ginger just shrugged glumly.

June gave her a look of sympathy and left. Outside, she gazed at the "Out of Order" sign. It was barely on with a tiny piece of used tape, but it did not have to hang long. It only needed to fool people for a short time.

Inside, Brigitte set the water on maximum cold. She stayed under the shower head, keeping nozzle stream going on her neck. The water began to turn. It was very uncomfortable at first, only mildly uncomfortable afterward, and there was no real shock. Strange, she could tell how cold it was, but she had to marvel at fact that even the coldest setting in Canada in the midst of winter was only slightly uncomfortable. She let the water squirt right into her underarm. Now it wasn't uncomfortable at all. She smiled. Here was a change she could like. She was truly impervious to cold. Though this degree of cold made her feel hungrier. _I'm burning a lot of energy._

She picked up the first towel. As much as she would become aroused at the smell and sight of blood, thankfully there was something about the smell of her own blood that totally killed the effect. Otherwise, she would be bleeding herself all the time. She rinsed it and watched the pretty pattern the blood made swirling into the drain. Her thoughts cascaded first to Trina, who led the heckling in high school after Ginger had been bit. How she hated having to let it slide because Ginger was so sick.

She thought of Sam and how she was forced to lose him, after having her mind warped by drinking his blood. Thoughts of the taste of his blood absorbed her now. It made her feel warm.

The blood continued to swirl. She thought of being locked in here, how these idiots were forcing her to be a murderer. The stairwell came back to her, where three guys jump on top of her. How Glenn, the one who held her cut-up left arm, mocked her. _Yeah, I have used drugs, mother fucker, and far worse, to try to save the lives of assholes like you!_

_In a few days, fucker, I will kill you!_

_She had his neck under her knee, his eyes had been torn out, and he was in a puddle of his own blood, choking. Grasping his forearm with both hands, she twisted it in opposite directions, hearing the cracks of breaking bones and then the squishing sounds of flesh being compressed. The hand turned a beautiful purple. It was so fascinating. Never had she seen a hand that color before! He screamed. She continued to twist. His hand wilted into claw. The twisting skin of his forearm continued to squish smaller and smaller, with squeezing sounds. She stood up, still twisting his arm, and kicked his jaw until teeth flew out and laughed at his screaming. His pain excited her. The arm tore . . . _

Riiiip! Brigitte had twisted the towel in half. The staggering pleasure of her fantasy traveled up and down her spine. She saw bright flashing auras while laughing and crying uncontrollably.

"Bee, what's it?" asked Ginger looking over the stall down at her sister who had dropped the torn halves of the towel. Ginger, with a werewolf's imagination, could see them.

Brigitte grasped the shower head to hold herself up. "You were right, Ginge!" said Brigitte, breathlessly, her eyes glazed in paradoxical joy and torment, "I see fucking fireworks!"

Ginger sank down and leaned against the stall, her voice choked; she did not care if her sister heard her or not. "I know was, Bee. I know . . . "

It was like seeing her sister being raped every day, while having to relive her own. There was no way to help, no way to escape. She had no words that could convey to Brigitte how terrible these last days were going to be, even if she could make herself tell her. Brigitte had seen it happen, but had no idea.

Her head bowed, Ginger desperately tried to keep a grip on herself. She felt her heart and mind were pressed to the limit.

_If I lose it, I'll be insane for eternity! _

A tear fell from her eye and evaporated instantly.

* * *

Having finished with the room, Lewis drove Frank back to his car.

"Frank, while I check on that car in the lot," said Lewis, "I want you to go to Regional Hospital right now. We need to pick up her trail again. Find any medical information on her, and anything that will get us the trail back."

"You know how tough medical records might be," said Frank, as they pulled up to his rental car. Lewis wanted Brigitte's medical records to prepare Frank for the story he had to be told.

"If I'm not mistaken, they're not going to be difficult for too much longer."

Lewis already knew by the license plate of the car at the motel was Jeremy Cain's. Once it became a police matter due to Cain's disappearance, Arthur would give them access to Brigitte's records, but the sooner Frank saw her records himself, the better.

"See you, Lewis."

"Goodbye Frank."

Frank got out and walked to his car across the street. Lewis noticed his own hands on the wheel: they were shaking. When he tried to drive away the tires spun. He calmed himself and put lighter pressure on the gas pedal. The car moved.

He was halfway back to the hotel room when his cellphone rang. Pulling over to take the call, he saw it was the police.

"Hello, Arthur."

"Lewis, we just found Jeremy Cain."

"You have?"

"If- we ever identify the body . . ."

* * *

The cleanup was done, and June was getting pissed off. She was beginning to understand Brigitte's paranoia about Four Point now. She had tried to see a social worker on Brigitte's behalf for two days. Always, neither of them were in. Only now did the staff tell her why.

"You mean _neither _social worker is going to be in _this week_?" said June.

Cassie answered, "No, I'm afraid not, June. Ken is on vacation. Judy is on administrative leave for a special assignment."

In June's long time in Four Point, she could not remember a single day where a social worker was not available, but now, the very week Brigitte was here, it seems neither of them would be. In theory, this place should not be running without a social worker, and lacking one just about eliminated any possibility that Brigitte could get discharged by tomorrow.

"Could I call them? Get a message to either one?"

"I don't have their number available," said Cassie. "I could ask Dr. Gadepalli."

Then Cassie then leaned forward and whispered, "I'll tell you the truth, I doubt it."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, I just mean I've never heard of the social workers being called at home."

Cassie's tone, however, confirmed June's suspicions. There was something wrong going on here. The authorities needed to look into the legality of Brigitte's involuntary hospitalization. It was already Thursday going on full-moon Saturday, and it was more than likely too late now. She could make the call herself, but she did not know precisely who to talk to. Only the two social workers knew this. In the vast, tangled, mental-health bureaucracy, June doubted there could be action before it was too late.

The second, more major problem: if she called, they would consider the source. _Nobody believes a crazy woman._ This was probably truer with the mental health authorities than anyone else, but June knew she had to try something. She felt her thoughts racing, and horrible, tuneless music began to play in her head again.

She said, "I need the number to the Interlake Mental Health Authority."

* * *

Lewis walked in a wooded area with Arthur. They approached the police tape marking the site where the corpse was found. Various officers were doing their work, mostly digging in the snow around the body looking for evidence.

"We're lucky this guy was walking his Labs and got lost or nobody would have found it until May," said Arthur. "They went crazy, ran to this spot and started digging."  
Lewis took one look at the corpse and knew DNA was the only hope of identifying it. The face had been torn away, the jaws had been crushed. His throat was torn out. The esophagus and connective tissue were visible, so were the ripped arteries. The abdominal region had been eaten for food, so had the meat on the thighs, he presumed, after the corpse had been brought here. It was almost a mile from the motel, if that's where Cain had been killed. The rest of the mutilating would be for hiding the evidence. At least it looked to Lewis like Jeremy Cain might have died quickly. He knew too well how sadistic these fiends could be.

"Did he have any ID?" asked Lewis.

"His pockets have been torn out," said Arthur, amazed, "along with his man-parts."

That sounded like jealous spite. The McCarty-wolf was courting Brigitte. It was a new one with Lewis, who had never encountered the situation where a fully animalized werewolf was stalking or courting a female _intermediate_.

"You think you can go with fingerprints?" asked Lewis, anticipating the answer.

"If his right hand weren't missing and if his left hand had any fingers, we could. No, DNA's the only hope we have. It might take a week to get results back from Winnipeg."

"You're not considering this a simple animal attack, are you?" said Lewis.

"The body was brought here after he was killed, but it wasn't dragged. None of the missing parts are here. What animal does that?"

"Good question."

Lewis knew, of course, that werewolves were intelligent and knew exactly how human beings thought and acted. One could totally lift a human body with its jaws run at top speed quite a distance. They hid or obscured their kills after the fact. Though generally not during the full moon, when they were too manic.

_Lunatics_.

Lewis had finished with his cursory examination of the corpse and knew the forensic report would come far too late to do him any good. "Thank you for waiting for me, Arthur. You could take him away now."

"Okay, go ahead and take him" said Arthur to the examiner. They began to remove the body.

He turned to Lewis. "Now, we go back a long way, Lewis. I have a suspicious death on my hands, possibly a homicide, and your missing girl seems to be the last person to have seen him alive. So, can you help me break this case?"

He sounded so friendly, but Lewis recognized the tone now. The federal police had a lot of power. "I found Jeremy Cain's car," said Lewis.

* * *

The cleanup was done, the laundry was in. June had taken the "Out of Order" sign off the door. Ginger had followed her from there too the laundry room, looking wane, colorless and almost transparent.

June recalled during the clean-up that she had, in fact, heard of Bailey Downs before. Though her memory was vague, it had been in the news. The sisters must be two of the three missing people. June asked Ginger who the third one was. Ginger then uncomfortably told her about her date with Jason, and how he was subsequently infected.

"So, what happened to him?" asked June.

"He changed, and he has been trailing Brigitte for two years," answered Ginger.

"What? To kill her?"

"No," said Ginger with disgust. "He's waiting for her to change so he could mate with her."

The obscenity of that sickened June, bestiality, where the beast was a stalker.

Ginger added, "Whenever he finds her, he kills any guy that gets near her. Sometimes he kills women, too. Just for fun."

June had previously thought Helen's life had been the worst, but even Helen would have not lasted one day in the hell Brigitte had been living in. Of anything else June had seen or heard so far, this was by far the most terrifying. She felt so sorry for Brigitte.

Ginger went on, "He also leaves her 'gifts' now and then."

"I- guess you don't mean dog turds?" June tried to laugh bravely. _Was that a joke?_

"No, kills. Dogs mostly. But once, he did leave a person . . ."

June wanted to ask about this, but there was something else far more urgent on her mind. "Ginger, has he tracked her here, yet?"

"Brigitte and I would sense him right away if he did."

"What would he do if he does?"

"I think he'd get really pissed off when she never came out," said Ginger, casually. "And he'd probably take it out on the people at hand. Killing, ripping things up, fucking: those are the only ways a werewolf deals . . . June, I'm cold. I have to go . . . stay with her, please!"

Ginger closed her eyes.

"Goodbye," said June.

In a few seconds, Ginger had faded.

* * *

In her room, Brigitte had dressed again. She had trimmed her claws and had put bandages over them. She wondered where June and Ginger had gone. Being alone in here now made her antsy. Being confined was terrible enough, but she also did not trust herself. June had cleaned up the blood spot and had changed the sheets, but to Brigitte the room stank worse than before. _June used the toilet water! _She hoped it would get better when housekeeping went through. If one looked close enough, they could still see the outline of the blood-puddle, though it probably was not distinct enough to draw attention from housekeeping.

She walked to the bathroom to check her face and noticed she was getting a headache.

As she gazed in the mirror, she flinched at seeing Ginger with silver hair and shiny blue eyes, looking over her shoulder. It was the Ginger in Brigitte's nightmares, who looked to be on the edge of the final change.

Before Brigitte could turn, Ginger swiftly grabbed her by the hair and pinned her face to the unbreakable mirror, doubling her over the sink. Claws dug into Brigitte's scalp; a knee pressed severely into her back, the pressure caused it to painfully crack as though breaking. Pain and numbness shot through Brigitte's arms, legs, hands and feet. Ginger's other claw was at Brigitte's throat, sticking it.

"Your drug habit has made you so fucking slow, Brigitte."

Brigitte could not scream, could hardly even breathe. Her limbs felt numb, as though she had just taken monkshood.

Ginger's mouth was at her ear: "The answer's yes!"

"What . . . question?" Brigitte gasped.

This set Ginger off. With a snarl, she slashed Brigitte's face, scoring it deeply. Brigitte tried to grasp the sink, but she was in too much pain and her hands were too weak.

"I'll give you a fucking hint: it's only the question you want to ask me most, moron."

Ginger then pressed the wounded side of Brigitte's face into the mirror. Brigitte's hands twitched with the agony. She could do nothing but cry. Torturing her and laughing, Ginger rubbed her sister's face back and forth across the mirror, smearing it with blood. She stood Brigitte up to look at it. They were both in the murky reflection, Ginger, with silver hair, her face lupine, holding Brigitte up by the hair and throat. Brigitte's face was so badly torn she could see her teeth through the slashes, blood and saliva seeping out. The bottom of the mirror had blood all across it.

"Don't you think it looks pretty?" said Ginger with mock affection. "Remember when we always used to finger paint, and you painted a picture of me, Brigitte? And I told you my hair looked like blood. You began to cry, until I told you how much I liked it that way?"

"I- don't remember!"

She slammed Brigitte's head against the mirror hard enough to break the frame, and crush Brigitte's nose.

"Yes you do!" Ginger shouted, enraged. Brigitte could feel her fangs right up to her ear, could feel her spit. "It was my fucking birthday!"

Ginger threw her on the floor. She lay prone in the middle of the room, choking and in agony. Ginger stalked up and kicked her.

"You still rather be dead than be what I am?"

She viciously kicked Brigitte in the ribs once . . . twice . . . Brigitte lost count, choking on blood. She said things that Brigitte could no longer hear, the pain was too great. Then, Ginger stomped on her again and again as bones broke loudly.

She crouched down, picked Brigitte's head up by the hair, and said alluringly, "Do you ever think of Sam's _dick_ these days?"

Then Ginger let her head fall and kicked her in the neck.

"I'll tell it you said hi."

Suddenly, Brigitte was alone. She could breathe again and she was able to sit up; her shoulders, neck and back hurt, but with nothing like the misery of the moments before. She reached up to her face. There were no cuts, no blood. She got to her feet, too terrified to look toward the mirror again. No blood was on her face nor on her scalp. Her nose was not broken. The stabbing pains were all gone, though the trauma remained vivid. She sat down on the bed.

Her mind stopped.

Over the loudspeaker a female voice said: "Smoke break!"

June came to the door saying, "Hey Brigitte? Come on, are you ready to go?"

Brigitte kept sitting on the bed, somehow not there. Seeing that there was something wrong, June came in warily. The expression on Brigitte's face was unreadable. "Brigitte, don't you want to get out of this room? Go up? They'll have the _windows_ open up there. A lot of fresh air."

"You're right," said Brigitte, still dazed and sweating. "I'm _dying_ to get out of this room."

June noticed she had changed. Her shoulders were different. Her arms looked more muscular.

"Hey, take your jacket with you and put your hood up. You won't stand out much that way."

"Yes- like Halloween," Brigitte said absently, as she went to get her coat.

"Yes!" answered June, though she had no idea what Brigitte meant.


	13. Seething

**Chapter 13:**

SEETHING

Going upstairs to the smoking room, Brigitte continued to act detached and dazed. When they arrived, she wore a cold smile. June noticed, from her low angle, Brigitte now had _fangs_. Her upper incisors were long. _Probably, nobody else can see them, yet, _thought June. Brigitte's body had changed in just the last hour as well. Her tee shirt did not even reach her navel now.

"Brigitte, close your jacket!" whispered June. Brigitte looked at June questioningly, but did.

As Mandy, the medical tech, lit their cigarettes, June could see the tape on Brigitte's fingers had torn. Her fingers were heavier, less delicate.

Brigitte herself could not think straight and was very hungry. She had hidden her hair streaks under a hood. She now had four streaks, three red, one light brown. They were not even symmetric, with three being on the left side. She knew it would cause questions, and that made her nervous.

The smoking room was dusty, dingy and smelled of ash. It was large and mostly empty with a couple of broad, old-style columns, and it had a boarded-up door on its opposite side. A few old cafeteria tables and chairs gave the patients some comfort while they smoked. It was under-heated. They simply opened the awning windows to ventilate it, which of course made it colder and colder as the break went on. June was bundled up. She and Brigitte stood by the windows as the rest of the girls sat at the tables chatting.

This was the first smoke Brigitte had in more than a week, and a few puffs made her head hum. As they looked out over the parking lot, where the snow had been plowed off the blacktop, June whispered, "Brigitte, you think you could escape out this window?"

Brigitte snapped back, "You think I can fucking fly?"

June was embarrassed. "Well, I thought you don't know your strength, and you know you'll heal fast . . ."

"If you knew having broken legs would only hurt for an hour, would you let me break them?" Brigitte said, grinning. The tone shocked June.

Brigitte looked away, dreading her own impulses. She suddenly could not stand June's scrutiny, her clueless pity and fear.

June could see her struggling for a moment before Brigitte said warily, "Don't look at me June."

It was a warning but not a threat. June looked away, knowing better than to argue or ask questions about this. Brigitte could smell fear in June's sweat and on her breath, but she had to hand it to her friend, she no longer showed it at the surface.

After a deep breath, June said, "Okay, not a good plan, there are a few others I have . . ."

"What about the abandoned wings?" asked Brigitte.

"What?" asked June.

"My hand-speed's wicked. What if I just steal keys from the staff?"

"Most the doors are opened at the security desk downstairs. Even if you found the one that opens, I think security would see it."

"So, what about the old wings to this building?"

"I don't know where the entrances are. I don't even know if the general staff can get into them," said June.

"They can get us into here," said Brigitte, exhaling and indicating the room. "Ask around."

Brigitte felt no guilt at playing June, now. The mental changes in the last day had been radical. She no longer wanted out, but wanted a place here to hide. She hated the staff, and she was now indifferent to the lives of the patients here as well. Her thoughts about why were vague, as this change was driven by strong feelings acting on her and not by reasoned calculation.

That is to say, she was indifferent to everyone here, except June. Brigitte, though, now never had just one emotion and was constantly confused. Along side the gratefulness, there was suspicion. _She's here for a purpose? Does she really believe that shit? _Along side that was resentfulness. _I don't need anyone to watch over me anymore._

However, grudgingly, Brigitte knew that she did, until she was able to hide.

Somebody was approaching. June was about to say something when Brigitte raised her forefinger to her lips.

"Hey, Pooh Bear!" said Helen laughing and staggering up behind June.

"Please, don't call me by those names again, Hels!" said June.

Helen just laughed. "Too busy with your cool new friend to talk to us anymore?" She giggled and looked at Brigitte who turned away. "Hi, Brigitte. I'm in awe- meeting you!"

"Ah, yeah, Brigitte, this is Helen," said June, uneasily. Brigitte turned to Helen and managed a sneer that could be mistaken as a friendly smile. Helen bought it, even when Brigitte did not take her hand.

"Glad to meet you, honey-babe," she said to Brigitte's chilly stare.

_Honey-babe?_ Brigitte thought. She deliberately bit the inside of her mouth and made it bleed. _Those meds do work._ On cue, the nightmare Ginger appeared behind Helen's shoulder and said, "You want me to kill her? I'll kill her for you, Bee."

She vanished, leaving Brigitte feeling dazed with a headache again. Her whole body itched and ached.

"Hey, that was really something you did with Phil. You put him in the hospital! Gave him a fucking bad hernia, I hear. They had to put, like, meshing in his gut. That shit really shook up the whole staff. I never heard of a girl doing anything like that!"

"Well he should have kept his fucking hands to himself!" Brigitte declared.

"Oh, relax, honey-babe, I wasn't saying you did wrong," said Helen, soothingly. "No. You're fucking amazing. Hey, when we're out, could you come over to my place and beat the shit outta my boyfriend for me?"

Helen laughed, or her mouth did, but Brigitte could see nothing in Helen's eyes. They were empty, like the eyes of a bird. Brigitte truly did not know what to make of her, except she was annoying and weird.

"Won't you join us back at the table? We're in group together in just a little bit?"

"I will in a sec," said June. "Brigitte isn't – too well settled being in this place."

"No," Brigitte confirmed, "I'm not."

"Okay," said Helen. "Hey, by the way," she walked up close to Brigitte, too close for June's comfort, and said, "Everyone's talking about your streaks. How did you hide the dye?"

"I don't have any dye," said Brigitte, with a tense hostility that was going right over Helen's head. "It's my natural hair." Brigitte's lip began to peel back, and it was not a smile.

"What?"

"Yes," said June swiftly. "She's . . . polyallelic."

"Poly alala-wha . . . ?" said Helen.

June had cobbled that term together on the spot from her biology classes. She thought Brigitte would appreciate it more than "mutant" or "freak."

Brigitte picked up on it immediately. "Yes . . . I have a rare condition. I have natural streaks in my hair. My hair was dyed when I got here. Something in the fucking soap here is washing it out."

"Oh," said Helen. "Well, that rocks!"

"You think?" said Brigitte, with a mean grin.

"Uh, see you in group, Hels?" said June.

"Yeah, see you there, short cake." said Helen, beginning to stagger away.

June turned away from Helen toward Brigitte. And exhaled, "Uggghhhh! Did she have to call me that- again?"

"I have to go into group therapy- with her?" said Brigitte.

"Yes, me, you, Helen, Shannon and four guys you haven't met."

"Guys?" said Brigitte. She had kept herself away from males as much as possible over the last two years and she was weary from it. She knew from the other day that the smell would be working on her now. "June, I don't think I can handle it."

"You can," said June. "You didn't kill Helen. The medication's been working. If you don't go they'll lock you in your room till tomorrow. "

The thought of being locked in a room alone frightened Brigitte. She could not tell which might be harder, but her body was now roaring to be in the presence of guys. She now fully understood Ginger's salaciousness, in fact, she wondered how her sister had restrained herself only to Jason until the very end. To Brigitte right now, four guys sounded like a sexual buffet.

June secretly thought Brigitte being locked in her room now would be better, but she knew from Ginger that it would mean her condition would likely be detected, which would make Brigitte much more dangerous. Getting her out of here was urgent.

June looked back toward the table, "I have to circulate some. I'll be finding out what I can about the doors. Just stay cool. I'll get you out of here."

* * *

The police combed the room and the parking lot while Lewis was in his car on the phone. It had been days since the snow had been removed, and two constables were looking through the snow piles to see what might have been moved aside.

He was on the phone with Frank, who was at the hospital.

"Oh, do they remember the Fitzgerald girl here!" said Frank.

"Why?"

"The way she was found, how hypothermic she was, and the way she almost died when they were rewarming her. You were right, she was poisoned with aconitine from the monkshood and it destabilized her heart."

"And . . ?" asked Lewis.

"When they finally identified the toxin, they injected atropine into her heart."

"The antidote . . . "

"Yes," said Frank. "She woke up and tried tear the nurse's ear off with her teeth, and put up a good fight until four guys restrained her."

"She regained consciousness? And did she bite anybody?"

"No, and she didn't exactly regain consciousness, Lewis. The staff described her as delirious and agitated. She passed back into full unconsciousness shortly. They put her in restraints, but she woke up repeatedly delirious. Why do you ask if she bit anyone?"

"Nothing, really," said Lewis, realizing the disease could not be spread then. "It might be good to find out if anybody remembers what she said while delirious."

"I'll see," said Frank. "They had her in the ICU for three nights. She had periods of delirium all through it. Then she stabled out, her liver and kidney functions became better, and she became peacefully unconscious, so they moved her into a room."

Arthur had come up and knocked on the window. Lewis rolled it down.

"We've found remains," said Arthur.

"I'll be right there!" said Lewis, who rolled up the window, and then spoke back into the phone. "Frank, I have to go. Talk to every doctor who saw her, and ask what happened to her luggage. They must have locked it up there, oh, and especially find out about her blood work."

"Lewis, I'm not a physician."

"Find a physician to explain it to you, then, and get back to me!"

Lewis ended the call, and walked over to join Arthur and two officers.

He looked at what they had found: a fist-sized hunk of frozen, bloody meat, and a pair of glasses.

* * *

Brigitte heard nothing in group, or rather, she heard everything except words. The pornographic smell of the guys overwhelmed and aroused her, causing her to retreat into waking dreams. She cried, though nobody had noticed yet. Ginger's rage mystified her. Why had her sister beaten and cut her? Beside the grief, she felt enraged. Ginger had admitted to lying to her. _You did remember Ginger! Why did you hide that from me?_ Tears oozed in a slow-bleed from her eyes. She kept her head bowed down.

The swing-set in Bailey Downs came back to her, vividly, its swings tapping together like gates in the wind. The dark woods loomed beyond as Ginger emerged, still bloody from the attack, stopping on the opposite side of the bars, and beckoning her. Brigitte felt the full moon shining behind her, its icy light chilled her to the bone, causing her to resurface from the vision with a gasp, looking up for the first time during group. The voices in the room stopped and everyone looked at her momentarily. They thought she reacted to something Helen had said.

The two counselors, a man and a woman, exchanged glances.

"Brigitte, is there something you'd like to say?" said Miles, the male counselor.

"Fuck no!" said Brigitte contemptuously, and coughed. Her voice was too low. They both took notes, and everyone turned back to Helen, all except June and one of the male patients, Roy. Was that sympathy she read on his face? Or maybe interest? His eyes were oddly unreadable, but his scent spoke to her.

The session included the four girls, Brigitte, June, Helen and Shannon on one side, and the four boys, Roy, James, Don and Max were on the other. There was also an additional a staff member, Maurice, a medical tech. They were not allowed to mix with the boys freely or choose their seats among them. Brigitte hated the fact that all of the guys were looking mostly at June, or rather, at her breasts. She could tell her friend hated this; June literally wreaked of contempt for it, showing Brigitte yet another emotion she could read by scent.

The smells coming off Shannon were worse for Brigitte. For one, she could tell Shannon had had sex with two guys in the room- recently, and vice versa her scent was on them, but she also smelled other guys on Shannon. _How did she get away with it? _ As jealousy and revulsion assaulted Brigitte's mind, she also smelled something far more vexing and puzzling in Shannon's odor, something unlike the primal smells of emotion, tears, sex, or of anything artificial. Though identifying it felt important to Brigitte, she had no answer, and it frustrated her.

Helen spoke in a strangely joyful tone punctuated by giggles. The story she told evoked hatred in Brigitte for everything and everyone.

"I did get him to pay me for it. Not bad for a fourteen year-old, huh? I was the only girl at school to have a two-hundred dollar a week allowance," said Helen, boastfully.

"It gave you some sense of control in a very awful situation, but it wasn't good, Helen," said Miles.

_What kind of _things_ are these? _Brigitte wanted to cry out. She craved to start killing and not stop until everyone in the room was dead.

"That's what they say," said Helen.

"But with all that money, all you could think to do with it was buy drugs," said Laci, the other counselor.

"Yeah," said Helen. "Same thing I'd do now."

June saw Brigitte's feet shaking.

"Can we go on break now?" asked June.

Miles looked at his watch. "It is that time," he said. "What does everyone else think?"

Affirmatives could be seen around the room.

He said: "Let's take ten."

June stood up and grabbed Brigitte's arm. "Come on!"

She swiftly took Brigitte out of the room, where Brigitte began to gasp like she had been holding her breath for the whole hour.

"Oh, fuck, that was bad!" said Brigitte.

"What was the problem? Claustrophobia?"

"No. It's indescribable."

A female voice over the intercom said, "Will June Collier please report to Dr. Gadepalli's office. June please report to Dr. Gadepalli's office."

"Shit," said June. "Brigitte, really quick, I did find something out. Your first day here when you fought with Phil, he dropped his keys. Somebody picked them up, and they know how to get into the old wings."

"Who?" asked Brigitte.

"They wouldn't tell me," said June, exasperated. "Of course they might be just teasing me. I'll try to find out more after group. Brigitte, try to keep yourself together while I see the shrink. It shouldn't take long."

June walked back down the hall toward the doctor's office. Brigitte turned away, feeling chilled and dizzy. She looked back toward the opposite end of the hall, it was Ginger, looking pale and with very large teeth, dressed as Brigitte was now in a flannel coat with a hood. Brigitte felt herself break out in a sweat, including in her mouth, which she wiped.

"You!"

Ginger looked startled, "Bee, you look . . ."

"I look like you," whispered Brigitte, seething. Suddenly, she heard somebody approach from behind her. Brigitte turned sidelong toward the unknown person, carefully not turning her back to Ginger. She could smell that it was Roy. She pulled her hood forward to cover more of her face.

Roy stopped. He said, "You lost somebody close to you, didn't you? I'm sorry."

He stood a bit too close for Brigitte's comfort. His words were bullshit, but it did not matter because his scent wooed her.

"Yes, I did," said Brigitte, peaking back at Ginger, "My mother."

"What?" said Ginger.

Brigitte looked back at him as he said, "Yeah, I lost my mother, too. My sister cried exactly the way you were. All the women did at the funeral."

Standing in her personal space, he seemed momentarily dizzy. When his eyes refocused, there was clearly more desire toward her, in both his expression and smell. _Am I putting out pheromones like he is? _She remembered her undesired effect on June. She welcomed the effect now.

"Is that what put you in the hospital?" asked Brigitte.

"That's what did it the first time," he said. "My mother got shot in front of me." There were no tears in his eyes as he said it, and his tone sounded annoyed rather than sad. He also did not smell like grief.

"Too bad," she said, not feeling it at all. Instead she smiled. Being too tall, he did not see her incisors. "I know _exactly_ how you feel." _Yes, you fucker, I know exactly how you feel._

Improbable though it was, his looks compared well to Sam's. Unlike with Sam, she did not need his help. His face looked angelic and innocent, but she knew he was not, and his scent was pure hellfire. She imagined him to be a son of a stripper, who inherited awesome looks from mom's side of the family- but also inherited her not-so-awesome brains. He had black hair like Sam, but with blue eyes instead. His false sympathy annoyed her. She managed a peak downward. He was getting hard, and this mental snapshot seared through her: too hot and too nauseating to visualize for more than a second. She averted her eyes and stepped away from him in a way that could be mistaken for coyness, and then pretended to be interested in something outside the window. Instead of following next to her, he came up and stood behind her, again too close. His arousal and need intensified as he perceived her being uninterested. He was not used to uninterested females, she could tell. Inside, her body roared.

"I want to get out of here so badly," she said, pausing. "I wish they'd give us another smoke break."

"Yeah, if only," he said.

_Just go ahead now and touch me, motherfucker. Come on. _She imagined how she would tear him open and become aroused as she watched him bleed before fucking him and tasting his blood. Maurice looked right at them, however, so Roy did not attempt to touch her, to Brigitte's disappointment.

_Blood and rape, is that my idea of sexual pleasure now?_ She merely mused about it. She wished she could hate the idea, or at least hate herself for it, but she no longer had the freedom to do even that.

Beside her, Ginger shook her head, looking helpless. She said, "First Sam, now him. How the fuck do you do it, Bee?"

"Leave me the fuck alone," said Brigitte. Ginger looked hurt.

"What?" he said, appalled.

She could smell his pain like a crushed flower and felt joy.

* * *

In the video, the girl struggled against four male orderlies who wrestled her down on a bed, trying put her into restraints without hurting her. She had painted her face purple, red and green with theater paint, to act as armor, or more precisely, a force field, with obscenities written on it to turn the terrorists to dust on sight, similar to Medusa. Her hair also sported wild colors and exuded a greasiness. For such a small person, she fought with boundless strength, and screamed throughout. The girl's brown irises pierced through bloodshot red with the tainted radiance of a broken mind stuck on its maximum setting for days.

"He hates you! He hates . . . " she screamed out, in quick syllables, her voice ragged and cracking, like she had been screaming for hours. She twisted her hand loose and began to slash at them with an imaginary knife.

"Rape! The doctor's men are raping me, they're fucki . . . ugh . . ugh . . . ! "

She screamed and her voice cracked. June closed her eyes here. She knew that the girl did not lie, that she experienced rape then as real as any in the actual world. When she opened them, they had grabbed the girl's arm again, and she attempted to bite them as they pinned her down. She turned her head back and forth and said, "I'm not sucking your dick! I'm not sucking yours either! You can't lock me up and not listen . . . _Lux Aeterna, Lux Aeterna! O__ra pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae!_ It speaks to me in tongues with violins! Listen! _Vols d'anges chanter toi à ta vie."_

They began to fasten her down. She continued to shout in indiscernible monosyllables, her thoughts and visions coming too fast then to even finish a word.

Then she snarled: "Watch you're fucking hands!" and spit in one of the orderly's faces. "Dr. Mengele! Your soldiers are rapists! You want to squeeze my tits and fuck my ass? That's what you want? I won't be locked in here and get fucked up the ass like whore of Babylon, you fuck. I'm still not a whore . . . better than her. I'm not a saboteur! I'm a prisoner of war, give me my fucking rights . . . don't rape me again . . !"

"Turn it off," said June, tears streaming down her face. "Turn this fucking thing off!"

They did. June picked up a tissue, and wiped her tears away. It looked like the painted girl had been having a drug trip, but June's blood showed no drugs except a trace of THC. She had no memory of that night or days after, and only a choppy memory of the entire two weeks prior. The staff had told her that police found her in a tree, in the dead of winter, after she had tried to kill her sister and put her mother and father in the hospital. June had now seen that even the extreme descriptions they gave her had fallen short.

"Why did you show me that?" June asked, humiliated.

"You had not seen it yet," said Gadepalli behind his desk. "We show patients how they were when they were admitted. It acts as a cautionary tale for them, showing them what would likely happen if they go off their medications, since noncompliance with medications is the number one cause of relapse in bipolar patients. Yours was quite dramatic."

"You think?" said June. "Promise me, please, that you'll destroy that." She still cried, feeling worse than humiliated. She did remember other things, worse things she did, and they also came back to her now, deepening her shame.

_It wasn't me. It was something in my brain. It took my body and wouldn't let me think._

_ "_It's has served its purpose," said Dr. Gadepalli. "We will erase it."

Dr. Lorraine sitting on the left of Dr. Gadepalli chimed in, "Also, June, we want you to know how far you have come in such a remarkably short time. Your recovery after such an extreme psychotic break has been remarkable."

"Yes, and that is why we feel confident enough in your recovery to discharge you now," said Dr. Gadepalli.

Momentarily speechless, at first June could only think of how joyful leaving this building would be. The very notion of fresh air seemed almost imaginary to her now. "What did you say?"

"We are releasing you," said Dr. Lorraine.

"My family . . . are they going . . . ?"

"No, not yet," said Dr. Gadepalli. "But we've made arrangements for you in the short term."

"When am I going?" she asked expecting them to say "tomorrow." June knew the most common question of patients in a mental hospital is when are they going to be released. She had, atypically, forgotten to ask since Monday, and, then, they gave no hint of releasing her for the foreseeable future.

"As soon as the van arrives, within the hour, two tops," said Dr. Lorraine.

The hastiness of this alarmed her. Everybody else they released knew for at least a day prior, and were given some counseling regarding it. _No! This is wrong. They don't release people on short notice like this!_

Yet, they dangled freedom in front of her now like a carrot. She could get away from all the terror she felt since meeting Brigitte and sleep without nightmares. She could rejoin the world of the sane, finish school, get her scholarship back, meet people, and make new friends. She could go to medical school, and pick up her life again. Already her freedom seemed like a done deal. Her thoughts had flashed forward in barely a few seconds. She would forget about exactly why they released her and, most of all, forget Brigitte and Ginger and abandon everyone else to the disaster that would follow.

_ No, that's all just part of my delusions! None of it is real!_

Her heart wanted to join the real world so painfully, it made her judgment for her, and mentally walked her toward the exit. She could feel right now the strain of this new prospect forming cracks in her thinking. Music played, this time a full orchestra. She imagined herself as the conductor struggling to bring it under control. Just to be without fear, that alone enticed her.

_Please, please don't offer me this, you bastards!_

"But . . . I have been hearing the music again," she pleaded. "My thoughts have been racing, and they've been really strange, too. I've been seeing things that aren't there, and I think I'm going manic again. Even psychotic. Releasing me might . . . not be the best thing right now."

_ There! I protested._

"To the contrary, June," said Dr. Gadepalli. "You have an insight into your condition I've seldom seen in a patient, and you've gained it in a remarkably short period of time. I believe the best place for you to continue your recovery is in the community. This hospital cannot offer you as much. But- I will increase your Zyprexa for the symptoms you describe. You will be far better off outside the hospital now."

The flattery charmed her. She asked meekly, "You're not doing this because I called the Interlake Mental Health Authority are you?"

_There! I asked._

"I had not even heard about that," said Dr. Gadepalli, surprised. "What for?"

She could not read whether that was a lie or the truth. Dr. Lorraine sat impassively. Bringing up Brigitte, June thought, would also yield nothing and would probably tell them more than it would tell her. Never did she predict that she would think of these two doctors who treated her so faithfully as her adversaries, people to hide information from.

"Forget it," said June, "It doesn't matter now, does it? Since I'm, going in an hour? Yeah, it's going to be fucking great to be out."

She smiled. She did not know whether she dissembled or told the truth.

* * *

June never returned to group, but Ginger came in, very disturbed by Brigitte's sudden, complete disdain for her. She kept her distance and paced around the circle of chairs, restless and glum.

"Doctor Lorraine is transferring me to some special program in Toronto next week," said Shannon, dejectedly.

"How do you feel about that?" said Miles.

"She thinks I'm a piece of trash."

"What a fuckin' pain in the ass!" cried Ginger, behind Shannon. "It's because you fuck every guy you see and try to commit suicide when you're turned down, stupid!" Of course, nobody else but Brigitte heard.

Laci said, "No, Shannon that isn't what she thinks . . ."

"That I'm a piece of trash, is what she thinks."

"You've attempted suicide three times in a year," said Laci. "You nearly succeeded, and you're lucky you're not brain damaged now. Dr. Lorraine feels that if something effective isn't done soon, you will die."

"She doesn't care about me. Nobody does."

"You're thinking in black and white again," said James, whose scent was on Shannon, and vice-versa. His smug, teasing tone made Brigitte want to kill him.

Shannon, who was five feet from Brigitte, still exuded an odor that mystified and irked her unrelentingly. She recognized so many odors automatically, but not this, and it still felt urgent. The scent of the guys still assaulted her as well, especially Roy's. She exchanged glances with him and felt her body stir. She growled, and covered it by clearing her throat.

"Brigitte?" asked Laci, "Do you want to say something?"

"No," said Brigitte, looking down again.

Ginger crouched down right in front of her. "Bee, you're kidding, right?" said Ginger.

Brigitte glared at her.

"Remember this?" asked Ginger, who then mocked Brigitte's voice with exaggerated prissiness, "'You gave it to Jason! You had unprotected sex, and you infected him!'"

Brigitte took swing at Ginger. Her slap passed through, and Ginger wheezed and dissolved away.

Everyone in group stopped, startled. Laci and Miles said simultaneously, "Brigitte?"

"'Oops!'" she said, mockingly.

* * *

June tried to pack, but her thoughts became more and more agitated. Bobby watched her, amazed with the speed at which she paced.

"I will so miss you, Lady June," he said.

"I know, I know," she said swiftly and with annoyance.

"Is that all you think of me?" said the ghost.

"Course not," said June, distractedly. "Always remember you." Indeed, how could she forget a ghost? What a stupid question. Because she did not like her own tone, she added, "Really, I mean it."

"Milady, you seem less yourself right now."

"You just haven't seen me happy," she said.

"You're not happy," said Bobby, sounding exasperated and looking exhausted. "No, you're not yourself."

Trying to clear her thoughts by shaking her head, she just made her headache worse. The orchestra still played in her mind, and, as the unwilling conductor, she still struggled to make the cacophony it into music. She walked back to the bed, took a shirt out of the laundry basket, folded it and put it in her bag. She went to the window to see the late afternoon sun. Too bad she would probably miss it today. Tomorrow and for the weekend, it would snow. She heard a blizzard was coming, but the spring would come soon, and she will be free.

She then paced to the other end of the room, feeling hot, and cracked the door open, crossed back to the window for a minute. Then paced back to the door and closed it. She felt her breasts bob along the way and it made her joyful. _Let the bitches all envy me and let all the goons drool. I'm free and I'm wonderful, and my boobs are celebrating!_ Traipsing to the bed again, she began to fold another shirt, reminding herself of the upcoming visit to her parents where she would collect her better clothes. How she hoped they had not thrown them in the trash.

Looking at her watch, she realized she had been packing for a half-hour and only folded half of her clothes. She had not even changed yet. She took her unfolded clothes, dumped them in the bag and threw the basket on the floor.

Her heart pounded. She walked to the bathroom, got on her toes to look closely at herself in the mirror, looking at her face for changes. _This is how Brigitte feels when she looks in the mirror._

"Maybe you're right, Bobby, I don't feel like myself," she said. There was no answer.

"Bobby?" She went out into the room. Bobby had gone. She went to the cabinet, opened it and saw her coat, sweaters, and other winter clothes, and realized her favorite sweater was still in the washer. She had forgotten about it totally. "Shit!" Instead of going down to get it, she picked up her books from the shelf.

An ear-splitting buzz, like a fire alarm startled her into dropping them. She turned around to see cicadas on the bed, four of them. Without even thinking about how they could get in on a winter day, she took her coat and shooed them away. They stopped the racket, dispersed and disappeared, as she noticed somebody standing next to the bathroom door. A young woman who was tall, with long brown hair, who was everything June was not, and who June, very long ago, wanted to be like the most. She looked at June accusingly.

"Angie!" said June, "I'm so sorry for what I did . . ."

"No you're not. Don't lie. Look at yourself. I hate you, June."

"No, I'm really, I couldn't . . ."

" . . . because you're crazy? Do you even have a purpose being here now?"

"Ang . . ." June choked up crying and turned away. When she turned back, Angie was gone.

She immediately knew had been a psychotic episode, so she was having them again. She sat down on the bed to think. The music began to quiet a little. She knew she could think through this and keep a grip on herself. _If I have another psychosis now, the prognosis will not be good._

What choice did she have about staying, and what could she possibly do here for Brigitte anyway? She remembered last night her prayer how it had seemingly been answered with a message, and telling Brigitte just earlier today, _"Because like your sister, I'm with you for a purpose."_

"Did you believe that?"said Angie's voice.

June would not answer it, but she knew that she did. She assured Brigitte and Ginger of it. It gave them hope. What hope would they have left if she abandoned them now?

_It could all be a delusion, _she thought. Werewolves do not exist, were not possible, or seemingly, did not and were not until Monday. It confused her. Why could she, of all people, see Ginger, and see that something wrong was happening within Brigitte? _Me, and not anyone else?_ If she left, she knew how easy it would be to deny even Ginger and Brigitte's existence, and to believe the imminent disaster was merely a delusion.

She put her head into her hands. _No, it would not be that simple. _June could neither deny nor escape this now. Her mind was a liar; she knew it, but no matter how delusional it turned out to be in the end, what little trust she had left in herself would shatter if she knew she had abandoned someone who she knew, at the time, was real, even if she turned out retroactively that she was wrong. And to abandon, of all people, Brigitte would drive her deeper into insanity. Brigitte, whose only crime was her illness. She could not let these doctors charm her into leaving contentedly, and to leave Ginger and Brigitte to fend for themselves against them.

_No, I can't just leave. Not now._

As June realized this, the turmoil and manic agitation began to clear from her head. She began to confront the major problem: she _did not_ have a choice. They were discharging her within the hour no matter what she wanted.

As her helplessness became apparent to her, her outrage at the staff and at Dr. Gadepalli intensified. It dawned on her now that if Dr. Gadepalli first put the social workers on furlough, and then discharged her to cover up Brigitte's illegal committal, then he must know something more about Brigitte's actual condition, though, obviously, not enough. _Why would he endanger everyone here? He __doesn't know everything, but he knows something._

She clenched her teeth, and got up. Tears of indignity and fury began to drip from her eyes. She knew now they did not show her that video as a "cautionary tale." They did it because it _would_ humiliate her; it would break her confidence and damage her will. _It was an attack on her._ Then, they tried to play her with flattery about all of her insight and intelligence. In actuality, they were discharging her, regardless of the medical implications it would have, because she _turned them in._ They probably had worse intentions for Brigitte.

Unable to contain her rage any longer, she looked around the room for something, but saw nothing useful. Finally she took off her watch and banged it against the blunt corner of the dresser, shattering the crystal.

* * *

Group finally ended, and with relief, Brigitte left the closed room and its lingering, invasive odors. Another smoke break would come in a few minutes, and Brigitte could not wait. Meanwhile, Maurice walked the boys back toward their own wing. After a moment of doubt, she made up her mind, and walked after them. She caught up with Roy and tapped his hand. He stopped and looked at her with surprise.

"See you at dinner?" she said.

"Huh, yeah!" and he whispered to her, "How about sooner?"

"Roy!" said Dana, the medical tech.

"I gotta go, now" said Roy. "How about AT?" Brigitte knew he referred to activities therapy, right before dinner. She could not help thinking about the timing, since she felt famished.

"Wicked!" said Brigitte. "See you there."

Roy smiled at her and then hurried to rejoin the group, leaving.

She watched him go. Then, she smelled something that made her itch as all of the hairs on her body stood up.

* * *

As she thawed and woke up, Ginger found herself again with June.

_Why is this happening?_

June sat on the bed with her eyes closed and her teeth clenched as she cut at her wrist with a glass shard. A puddle of blood was on the floor. Her glasses, on the dresser, were missing a lens. Glass from the missing lens lay around on the floor. Blood dripped from her wrist, but June had apparently doubled-down and wanted it faster.

"June! What are you doing?" Ginger yelled.

June started and opened her eyes, but not before the bleeding accelerated. The blood now flowed, though it was not the bright red of arterial blood. She panted and looked pale and sickened.

"Ginger! I turned them in about Brigitte. They're going to discharge me. This is the only way I can stop them."

"You turned them in- about Brigitte?"

June looked at her own bleeding with distress. "Ginger, there's no fucking time to explain. Get Brigitte. Have her come in here and scream!"

Ginger's eyes widened. "Brigitte? No, June, that would be a very, very bad idea."

"I don't have . . ."

Brigitte then barged in. She had followed the smell of the fresh blood to June's room, now saw it, and closed the door behind her. "June . . . ?"

June spoke fast, "Brigitte! It's not how it looks. I had to do this to keep them from discharging me. I need for you to scream and get somebody . . . Please, I'm bleeding to death."

"Bee . . ." said Ginger with dread.

The sight and smell of the blood enthralled Brigitte. She seemed not to hear either of them.

June was getting nauseated; she could feel herself sweating, and the wound hurt intensely. _What is she waiting for?_

"Brigitte, don't free . . ." June began, but she saw that Brigitte had not actually frozen in panic, and the actual danger began to sink in. Brigitte's eyes no longer registered any recognition of her, not as a friend, not even as a person, but as an object of contempt, and, far worse, as food. June felt panic freezing her; she could merely shiver as Brigitte began to circle and then sank into a crouch. She drooled, a growl rumbled from her throat. Her skin glistened. No shape-shifting had occurred, yet before June's astonished eyes, Brigitte had shed her humanity and turned into a predatory animal.

Ginger stepped in front of her, "Bee, stop . . . !"

With a snarl, Brigitte swiped a claw through her. Ginger gasped and faded away. Leaving nothing between June and this feral animal.

"Brigitte . . . ?" June managed to squeak out after watching Ginger fade. "It's me!"

Nothing human came back into Brigitte's eyes. Her lip pulled back revealing her fangs. June could see Brigitte's claws grow out from her fingers as as she released another rumbling growl, which built toward a crescendo.

June screamed. It snapped Brigitte out of her animal state, but that did not stop June from screaming and screaming until she fainted and fell back on the bed. Brigitte stood back up and averted her eyes from the blood right as Cassie rushed in. "Brigitte? What happened."

"I found her like this!" said Brigitte, pleading, hating herself. She had tried to fight it, which had saved June from being killed immediately.

Cassie turned and yelled back into the hall, "Suicide! We have a bleeder!"

Brigitte fled from the room and away from the smell of June's blood as fast as she could force herself to go. She went to her room and buried her snout in her pillow; her claws sank through the pillowcase.


	14. Out of Time

**Chapter 14:**

OUT OF TIME

Feeling restless and ill, but ravenously hungry, Brigitte changed her plans and chose not to go to activities therapy. Instead she went to the lounge and ate as much fruit, yogurt, peanut butter and ice cream as she could stand. The girls noticed and snickered at her, but Brigitte did not care now. Paradoxically, when her stomach felt full to where she was not physically able to eat another bite, she felt no less hungry. She went back to her room and vomited. Immediately afterward, she felt cramps and began to bleed. Her period, absent for two days, had returned. An invasive dread forced its way into Brigitte's mind.

_What is it doing to my ovaries? _

She never thought this way about it.

Brigitte decided she was too ill and tired to bother with anything else. She stripped off her clothes, put on a gown, and lay down on the bed, sweating. Her skin felt sore and itched everywhere. She could feel the hair moving all over her. Her breasts hurt like two sacks of bruises, and she remembered Ginger's complaint of this very thing. Unlike Ginger, she did not feel restless nor destructive now, she simply felt tired. She closed her eyes for a second.

"Brigitte!" said a male voice. She opened her eyes with a start, finding that she was unable to move, except for her head.

"Sam?" She opened her eyes. It was him. "Sam!" He wore the same jacket and pants as he did on the last night, but thankfully, he showed no blood, nothing that would make her drool and become filthy in front of him.

"Good, you can see me now. I've been trying to appear to you like Ginger can, but I haven't been strong enough." He looked around as though there might be something else in the room, and then looked back to her. "As it is, I don't have much time, Brigitte."

"Sam, I'm so sorry for what I did to you," she confessed, remorsefully.

"I would have went in anyway, Brigitte. I would have never let you face her alone."

"We should have left when you said," she began to sob.

"No . . . no way we should have!" he said.

She continued to cry. He wiped her tears away with a cloth as she said, "But, she was my sister, Sam. I couldn't leave her then. How could I know I'd lose both of you?" she choked up.

"But Brigitte, I couldn't have loved you if did leave."

His words stopped Brigitte. "But you suggested it!"

"Yeah, I did," he said, embarrassed, "and it would have been the smart thing, but not the right thing. I would have been your friend, but I would have never loved you like I do now."

He reached out his hand and stroked her face, which gave her comfort that she had forgotten for so long. He held her hand.

_He could touch me! _

He said with tears in his eyes, "I've been trying to figure out a way to help you, ever since that night, but I still have no ideas."

"I love you, Sam," she said.

Sam closed his eyes and said, "I love you, too, Brigitte." He opened them again, and he bent down and kissed her on the lips. As he held it, her face tingled with warmth. Then, the sickening thought of the taste blood ruined the moment. "Stop, stop Sam!"

"What's wrong?" he said.

"I've been afraid to think of you because it's been twisting my thoughts," she said. "It's made me perverted. I can't think of you without thinking of tasting your blood, and, that's like sex with me now!"

He paused and seemed to ponder this. "Yes but, whatever Ginger did when she forced you to drink my blood, she also somehow bound the three of us together. I don't understand it, but the power was there."

This puzzled Brigitte. "Sam, why I can't move? What's happening to me now?"

"That's the bad news I have to give you. The monkshood disrupted the process. Think of what happens when, like, a fetus develops. Everything must develop at the right pace. If the liver develops too fast for the heart, the liver dies and so does the baby. The changes are all out of sync for you. That's what you're facing now, Brigitte."

"So, I might die?"

He nodded, sorrowfully.

"Good! I don't want it using my body, and I'm fucking tired of fighting it, Sam. I want to die if it dies with me."

"Brigitte, I hate that thought, so does Ginger . . ."

"No! You're both selfish. I don't want to be a killer. There's no hope for me anymore, Sam, and I'm dead either way. You know it. And . . . there's an afterlife, you and Ginger prove it. . . right?"

"Brigitte," he said, shaking his head, "appearances are deceiving . . ."

Then nightmare Ginger pounced on him from out of nowhere, and simultaneously broke his neck and slit his throat. As Brigitte tried to scream, Sam's open throat pressed right up against her lips. The blood spurted into her mouth, down her throat, choking her, even as her body already responded with nauseating sexual arousal. Brigitte closed her mouth and turned her head away. Sam's corpse twitched and continued to bleed, covering her and the whole bed with blood, until, to her self-hatred, she began drink it again. She cried as she did. It tasted not salty, but sweet.

When it bled out, Ginger tossed the Sam's corpse aside, and sat down on the bed. She wiped her paw across Brigitte's face and licked the blood off. When Ginger did it again, Brigitte spit blood into her face. Ginger smashed her fist into Brigitte's gut, causing her to regurgitate blood.

"Rage! I like that," said Ginger, who lay down next to Brigitte. "You just have to learn where to direct it, sis."

_Ginger never called me sis!_

When Brigitte recovered enough, she screamed, "You fucking killed him!"

"I did not. I just gave you what you _really_ wanted from him," Ginger said. "Are you feeling that ache now?" She touched Brigitte right on her vulva, right on her clitoris through the bloody gown. Brigitte nearly wretched. Ginger added, "I know, you're feeling like tearing things into fucking little-bitty pieces now? If you could only move a little. Soon, Bee, very soon."

Once Brigitte gained her breath back, she rasped, "Stop! You're not my sister!"

It hammered her in the gut again, and put it's leering face right up to Brigitte's who regurgitated some blood and spit at it again. "Who am I then, Bee? My name is Ginger."

Brigitte could barely whisper, "No, you're not my sister. Why are you . . . what are you doing to me?"

"I'm watching over you," "Ginger" said. "I'm making sure you grow up right."

The answer amazed Brigitte. She could not detect a bit of irony in it. _Why can't I move?_ "No," said Brigitte, she closed her eyes. "That isn't it . . . oh, why I can't think . . ?"

In delight, Ginger licked the blood off Brigitte's face directly.

Ginger noticed Brigitte's discomfiture. "What's the matter, Bee? Still got the cooties? If you still don't want to grow up, you could always fuck off AND DIE. "

With a knife strike, it plunged its claw into Brigitte's gut. Brigitte had a delirious image of being back home years before, of being in the backyard in front of the doll house having a fight with her sister, when Ginger suddenly plunged a hand deep into her guts. Little Brigitte went to her knees dying.

Pamela turned from her yard work and said, "Ginger! Don't eviscerate your sister."

Brigitte woke up, there was no blood, and somehow the relief canceled the pain. Somebody knocked at the door. Brigitte did not answer, but she pulled the sheets up to hide her tail which was now more than a foot long and growing fur. The curtain pulled up momentarily and then Laura came in with a tell-tale scent coming off of her. Brigitte now knew too much about Laura's sex life, too, just another unwanted pornographic image invading her mind.

"Brigitte, it's time to eat."

"I'm not fucking hungry," said Brigitte.

"That's really unlike you. I know you're upset about your friend. June is going to be okay."

Brigitte dared not even think of June right now; the bloody memories were too dangerous.

Laura continued, "Won't you have some dinner? I can bring it to you."

"No!" Brigitte yelled. "Get out!"

* * *

June sat on a mattress without a bed, the only "furniture" within the padded walls of the room. She noticed now that without her glasses everything in the room was blurry, except Ginger, who had just materialized, and who, as usual, had no shadows on her. She talked, but June had not begun to listen yet. June sported a large bandage on her left wrist. The staff had stitched her jagged wound up, given her a unit of blood, and put her in isolation-observation room, IS-OB. Her wrist hurt terribly, and she could tell she would not have much use of her hand for quite some time. Four hours had passed since June had cut herself. This long day was now well into the night.

She hated being in this room, especially now, but it had one consolation: she felt utterly safe and relaxed. Her thoughts had slowed down and clarified. The audio hallucinations had stopped. _Had the stress really been that bad?_ After the shock of watching Brigitte go feral, June could not deny that this mandatory rest might not be totally a bad thing.

Ginger finally screamed at June. "Why don't you talk to me anymore?"

June looked at Ginger with a dejected expression, and then looked up and to the right, and scratched her head with her finger pointing there. Ginger looked to where June gestured and saw the camera in the top corner.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry." Ginger said. She then walked weightlessly over and sat on the mattress next to June, who had half wondered if she would get to see Ginger's chair trick from this angle, and mused about the possibility of debunking it. "I don't know why Brigitte won't have anything to do with me again. Now I thought both of you decided to cut me off."

June could understand her being terrified of being ostracized, especially as Ginger was, after all, still only fifteen. June looked at her and shook her head.

"How long are they going to keep you in here, you think?"

June shrugged glumly, not looking at Ginger, and put up two, then four fingers.

"Twenty-four hours?" Ginger asked.

June shrugged again and, with difficulty, put up seven fingers, she could only barely lift the two on her left hand. Then she put up two.

"Seventy-two hours?"

With a sad, sorry look, she shrugged and mouthed the words "could be."

"What? Oh, no! We don't have that much time."

June mouthed the words "I know, sorry."

"June, you said that you and I were here for a reason. Were you fucking bullshitting me then? And Brigitte? Is this the end?"

June shook her head, put two fingers up and mouthed the word, "days."

Ginger did not looked convinced. "These last two days are going to be fucking awful for her, June. I never told her about the nightmares and hallucinations. They are going to feel fucking real, and she's not letting me near her now. You must promise me that you'll escape with her, and you'll get her to take monkshood."

June swallowed. She recalled how bestial Brigitte had become at the sight of blood, but somehow her own fear did not seem to matter anymore. Her bloodletting had somehow edified her commitment. She raised her right hand, palm out beneath her neck and mouthed, "I promise." Even if she knew monkshood would be no solution to Brigitte's problem, it may get Brigitte through this full moon without a total transformation. It would buy her mere weeks, or less, such was the tolerance Brigitte had built up to it.

"I'm so glad you're still talking to me, June."

June almost laughed. Right now she could do anything but talk to Ginger. All she could do was listen.

"I mean, I'm not able to talk to anyone. I'm not able to do a fucking thing; I was never able to help her, why the fuck am I here?"

As bad as Ginger had it, June knew Ginger had it better than a spirit like Bobby, and maybe all of the rest of the ghosts haunting this place. Like Ginger, they had no physical effect on anything, but their afterlife revolved around one decrepit building, indefinitely, and they were far away in time and distance from anything they cared about. Though, June had no guess as to what might happen to Ginger if her sister totally transformed.

June herself felt as helpless as Ginger as she waited faithfully for the purpose they had to present itself. Her consolation: she knew it would.

"I never told you before, June. I do have just a couple powers: one is to move really tiny, light things with my fingertips. Fucking kicks ass, doesn't it?"

June nodded. A weak power, not even as practical as using invisible chairs, but it more than June expected her to have. She could not tell where Ginger was going with this.

"I also have the power to hide something, and I want you to have it, June. Brigitte thinks it was stolen, but no, I hid it from people. I'll tell you where it is."

June looked at her quizzically. Ginger gestured to June's bandaged left wrist and added, "You earned it."

June waited, and Ginger went on, "And if everything fucks up, and Bee and I are gone, I want you to give a message to our parents, please?"

This stunned June. Ginger had never said anything good about her parents before, but June's curiosity had to wait, because before Ginger could go on, the intercom buzzed and said, "June!"

"Who the fuck . . .?" said Ginger.

It was Dr. Gadepalli's voice.

"Doctor!" said June, with sarcastic over-affection. She had lost all respect for him now and had nothing but questions for him that she could not ask.

"Please prepare, I'm coming in."

A stupid formality. "Yeah, I've prepared dinner for you," said June. "Just, wait till I fix my makeup . . ."

The door opened. June lifted the sheet over her. The gown and robe were not making her breasts demure enough for her comfort. He came in carrying a clipboard. Maurice followed him in and put a chair down, followed by Laura, whom June presumed was there to stop an escape. Then, Maurice left and closed the door. The doctor sat looking down at her, and Laura knelt down to the right of her, (Ginger sat to the left) and began to take June's blood pressure, which June did not resist.

"Well, you're the rudest date," said June to the doctor. "Just barge in, then, and bring your whole entourage. Could you leave the chair when you go? And maybe a desk to go with it? A TV and something good to read, too? Oh, and a good _razor blade?_" she said with a wide grin. "I guess you could see I need to shave my legs. I'm _so_ utterly embarrassed."

June noticed, as always, the doctor never seemed to check out her chest, one reason why June had ever respected him so much. Laura, on the other hand, was a bitch and usually did not hide her envy. Foolish envy at that, as Laura would turn heads anywhere. When the doctor sat down he immediately looked down at and paged through the papers on his clipboard, and then began to write something on the top page. Laura finished taking June's vitals, marked her clipboard and stood up, walked over and waited by the door. Apparently, she was the doctor's body guard here.

"How do you feel, June?" he asked, not looking at her.

"I'm fucking depressed. Yeah, that . . . vid you showed me makes me want to cut my throat. Wasn't practical with a small piece of glass, though. Oh, and my wrist hurts like hell. Don't suppose I could talk you out of some morphine?"

"Why didn't you mention at our previous meeting that you had suicidal thoughts?" asked Dr. Gadepalli, his demeanor flat.

"Maybe because it wasn't on my mind until you showed me that vid. Cautionary tale? It was so uplifting."

He then stopped to write notes.

"You know how hard it has always been to keep a conversation going with you?" asked June. June's anger and curiosity goaded her now into boldness. For Dr. Gadepalli, she had a game in mind: strip poker. She would see if she could strip him while keeping herself covered. Maybe simultaneously, she could actually manipulate her shrink into doing something smart.

Keeping his face impassive, he asked, "Why are you angry, June?"

"Because, like, somebody here isn't what they appear to be," said June.

"June, don't . . ." said Ginger. June sent a quick look her way.

With this statement, the doctor's demeanor cracked for an instant. He looked suspicious, worried. Then he covered it up again, so June added, "I'm talking about you, doctor." He showed the slightest relief, then went impassive again. _Ha! Already got his tie, shirt and undershirt._

"I mistook you for an ethical man," June said, "and you've disappointed me." He went back to taking notes.

_Nobody believes a crazy lady, including her shrink._ June intended now to take full advantage of this.

"I did notice you making certain gestures in here," he said. "What are you seeing, June?"

"Ghosts," she said, "actually, a ghost, but you're off topic."

"Do you see one now?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Tell me about it."

"That's what I mean! Now, how is it that you know something but you don't know everything? I mean, you've got something in your hospital here, you know something about it, but you have absolutely no idea what you're handling or how dangerous it is. It's almost, like, on a need to know basis."

She stayed quiet and read his body language while he wrote. Then to shock him, said rudely, "You're the fucking slowest stenographer I've ever met, doctor."

"June, this is a new, serious turn for your illness," said Dr. Gadepalli. "Please tell me about the ghost. Does it give you commands."

"Yes, of course, the ghost. What I don't get is, how you told the staff to ignore its weirdness and strangeness. And you got rid of the social workers right when I needed to see them about it, but only for a week." June made another read on his body language. _And he thinks he's covering it up!_

"June, your psychosis seems to have become worse, I'm going to have to change your prescriptions."

With a gambit, June said, "I bet you will. So, how much did they pay you?"

Dr. Gadepalli looked seriously worried now. "Who is they?"

Bingo! "Do _you_ even know?"

He stood up and began to take his chair. "Your thinking is disorganized. Your anti-psychotics need to be raised."

"Those are only good against delusions, Doc. These thoughts aren't going to disappear like the funny ones."

He picked up the chair and began to walk to the door. "We'll make a decision about how long you will be in isolation tomorrow."

On that cue, June was supposed to behave again, instead she got up, finding herself a little dizzy on her legs, and called to him, "So, do you think Violet fell? I don't know, Doc. I heard some rumors that she had a few more injuries, something about broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. Isn't somebody, like, investigating that?"

The doctor took out the keys and opened the door. "Good night, June."

"I'll warn you. Better not see her again. She hates your guts, and I can't blame her."

He opened the door and left, Laura followed him. June laughed. _That's belt, shoes, pants and underwear. _

_ "_Keep your socks, Doc."

The door slammed. She had fun and did feel like Bugs Bunny. It seemed like a long time since she had done anything that bitchy and bold. It felt so good, like a taste of freedom.

Ginger just looked at her awed and laughed a little. "June . . . why did you tell him that?"

June got really close and whispered one word, "Dirty." She then sat before she had to fall. She almost felt sorry for him. She knew Dr. Gadepalli would try to cover-up what he did at all costs, but until the staff released her from IS-OB, June just hoped she pushed him toward doing the right thing for the safety of his patients. She worried about how Brigitte would react should her medications not work anymore, and she hoped they did. Tomorrow, when June was out, she had to find whoever had the key, or if they had left already, find out how they got out.

It only then occurred to her how debilitating the change in medications might be.

* * *

Dr. Gadepalli emerged from the IS-OB room behind the nurses' station. He wrote some last notes on June's clipboard, and then picked up Brigitte's clipboard and began to write.

"Laura, what is Brigitte Kilpatrick's current status?" he asked as he took a paper out of his pocket.

"She wouldn't go to dinner. She says she's feeling sick, but refuses to give any details, and she's hostile, as usual."

"Keep her door locked tonight starting right now," he said. "Do not unlock it under any circumstances but medical emergency. Visual checks only, vital signs and medications are not necessary tonight, and do not enter the room without calling me first. Also, this just came in today." He held up the paper. "She is being transferred early tomorrow to another facility."

"Oh," said Laura. "Where?"

"Some of her relatives in Vancouver have surfaced and are transferring her to British Columbia health authority," said the doctor, attaching the paper to the clipboard. He took clipboards to the wall and hung them up.

From anyone but Dr. Gadepalli, Laura would have found those instructions questionable.

Laura went down the hall to Brigitte's room. She opened the door and peaked in. Brigitte appeared to be restlessly asleep, and Laura noticed how Brigitte's legs kicked. The nurse closed the door and took out her keys to lock it. Meanwhile, two girls talked loudly down by the laundry room.

"No conversations in the hall at night, girls," said Laura, locking the door. "Go to the lounge."

"Sure lollipop!" said Helen, with a giggle.

Laura glared at her before turning to go back to the nurse's station.

Helen and Shannon sauntered up the hall slowly and waited for Laura to turn at the T.

"What a bitch," said Helen.

"You're like so right," said Shannon.

Furtively, Helen took out keys and unlocked Brigitte's door. They both stifled their giggles and continued to walk up the hall.

* * *

Dr. Gadepalli needed to make a phone call before he went home for the night. It had been a long day, and he felt grief for June Collier. The latest symptoms suggested paranoid schizophrenia and not bipolar disorder. She had been the most promising, intelligent person to have ever been checked into his hospital.

He could not deny that her word salad made him feel guilty and afraid about Brigitte. She could have heard about Violet Kramer's injuries from anywhere. Staff could have talked and patients could have picked it up. Though, if anyone could have seen what actually happened to Violet, it would have been June, who now thought a ghost did it.

_Why did she bring that up then at the end of the conversation? And why did she say, "She hates your guts?"_

She could not be referring to Brigitte, but her new delusions and word salad reminded Dr. Gadepalli of his entanglement, which thankfully would be behind him after tomorrow morning. He walked to the closet to get the phone, took out and opened a box on the floor and removed a brief case. Bringing the case to the desk, he opened it, and stared at all the money, more cash than he had ever seen. He had counted it more than once, disbelieving: five-hundred thousand dollars. He kept it here, feeling too apprehensive and guilty to transfer it anywhere else yet. From the upper compartment of the case, the doctor took out a cellphone and pressed one. Instead of ringing it just picked up.

"You've reached K," said a female voice.

"Hello-K," said the doctor slowly according to the cypher. "I-wish-to-speak-to-R"

"Doctor! What may I do for you?" said a baritone male voice suddenly.

"I'm shocked that you did not tell me everything about your 'niece.' You could have told me she was dangerous."

"I strongly suggested that you drug her."

"I did. To do anymore drugging would have been medically unethical. Now I might have lawsuits on my hands."

"Which will be settled out of court. Don't worry. You're insured, doctor. It's way late in the day to be complaining. I suggest again that you lock her door tonight, go home, get a good night's sleep. If it still bothers you, just go into work late, and it will be out of your hands. Anything else?"

"No," said Dr. Gadepalli. The call immediately ended. He sighed. He could not wait to have this shameful part of his life behind him, and to forget it.

* * *

_"I am alone. First Ginger and Sam, now Jason. He couldn't take the purple anymore, he gave it up and he is fucking out of control. His smell- I can't describe how it effects me. Maybe Ginger had a smell, too, and my sense of smell just wasn't this good then. He complained more about how hard it was to be with me without sex, just in case I didn't get the idea from his smell. He said it would not be safe for me to keep taking purple when he wasn't: a threat. I waited until he went out to make a kill, and I left. I'm on a bus going to Thunder Bay. I'm too tired now to think of where to go from there. It looks so bleak now. I hated leaving him to go through it by himself, but I'm still human." _

Lewis continued to read Brigitte's journal. Interesting that her word for monkshood was "purple." He knew now that Jason and Brigitte left together a day after the Bailey Downs incident, after Brigitte explained to Jason what was happening to him. They then stayed and traveled together for six weeks. They kept administering daily injections of monkshood to each other, which had been Brigitte's condition for staying with him. Werewolfism might have made it a pairing of necessity, but it made for bad chemistry otherwise.

_Jason did very well lasting on monkshood for six weeks._

After leaving Bailey Downs, Brigitte managed to survive off thievery. Lewis knew of other _intermediates_ doing this in the third week. They made superior thieves. Anyone who could swipe items from shelves faster than a security camera could pick it up would be.

Lewis stopped reading. He was in his motel room and listened with concern to the weather report on television. "This blizzard could be the storm of the century. Yes, potentially record-breaking snowfall. The system has already started to move in tonight, and the the winds will continue to increase. By tomorrow, these could gust up to a hundred kilometers per hour. Then on early Saturday morning, we will begin to see the snow. . . ."

Lewis knew record-breaking snowfall meant something incredible in this region, measured in meters. The roads would become impassible very fast. The deadline on finding Brigitte had become twenty-four hours shorter, and sometime tomorrow afternoon, Brigitte would become contagious again. In the evening, she would be able to move and kill freely while he and Frank would be stuck. Meanwhile, the trail was still cold.

Flipping back to the front of the book, Lewis looked at the pictures from the sisters' "death" show. He tried to understand why Brigitte cherished these. Showing them off in class revealed a desire for attention, but taking them with her showed something else, especially after Ginger had died, and death poses would seem to be the last thing Brigitte would want to recall. Yet, she took them with her. _Why?_

His cellphone rang. He looked. Then answered. "Hello Frank. What have you found out?"

"I finally got a doctor here to show me the test results on her blood and discuss them with me, all off the record, of course," said Frank, breathlessly.

"Did you find out something surprising?"

"Surprising? No, I found out something crazy. Seems they were puzzled about her blood. Routine tests weren't making any sense. They thought maybe she had cancer because her white blood cell count was so high, so they sent blood and tissue samples to the lab in Winnipeg."

"And?" said Lewis, not surprised.

"Winnipeg thought it was a joke."

"Oh really?" said Lewis, in flat voice. "Why ever?"

"Because her blood wasn't human," said Frank, exasperated. "Do you hear that? 'Wasn't human?'"

Lewis actually found Frank's excitement amusing. "Not human. How Frank?"

"It wasn't cancer because the cells were too uniform, but her white blood cells all had fifty chromosomes, and six percent of the cells in her tissue samples also had that."

"Hmmm," said Lewis. There was a pause.

"Human cells have forty-six chromosomes," said Frank.

"I know."

They paused again. Frank broke the silence, saying, "None of this is surprising to you, is it?"

"No." Another pause.

"Lewis, why haven't you told me everything?"

"Because before you saw her test results, you wouldn't have believed any of what I had to tell you. Call it a day, Frank. Come back to the room now. We have to talk. It's late, we'll probably have to continue it in the morning. But there won't be much time."

* * *

Outside of Brigitte's window, the wind had kicked up into a howling, whistling frenzy. Brigitte felt just as restless and angry, but also felt too sick to pace and prowl, almost too sick to stand. She had a headache, her skin felt bruised and itchy all over, she sweated, her joints hurt. All the while, she felt aroused, and tried to rub herself to the release her body had been building to, trying to think of Roy and not Sam. She felt too guilty about Sam. She felt too guilty about Sam. Sensations gathered and built . . . the ache under her naval . . .

_. . . then she stood before a swing set, totally losing her memory of her bed in Four Point, back in Bailey Downs the night of Ginger's attack._

_The full moon shone brightly behind her, while_ t_he swings tapped together softly. Gore and half-eaten human remains hung from the crossbar, and the swings. Two human heads were at the top, one with the spine hanging from it. Torn up human corpses lay beyond it, leading into the dark of the woods. Brigitte could not think twice. Her sister had been dragged into there. _

_ "Ginger!"_

_ She went under it, and called Ginger's name again, hoping that her sister would emerge. Nothing happened, she shouted out again. No answer. So Brigitte ran under the swing set, between the swings with gore on them, into the woods. Calling her sister one more time._

_ The woods were pitch black. The only thing she could see clearly was the full moon. _

_ Brigitte heard a growl and turned back to look toward the full-moon, where she saw the shadow of a giant animal lunging at her. Its head hit her in the chest, knocking her down. She felt its teeth sink into her side and crush her ribs. The pain felt vivid as it continued to maul her. She could only scream until her strength left her and she went limp. It continued to maul and tear at her. _

_ When she opened her eyes again, the sun had risen and she couldn't breathe. She had a vision of her own dead body, the abdomen eaten away down to the spine, her throat torn deep down to the bone, her right hand gone, her lower jaw crushed. She had totally bled out hours ago, but somehow her eyes were open and she could see and hear. Her body lay in an open field next to the woods. _

_ She could not breathe. _

_ Ginger lay on top of her holding a fork looking right into Brigitte's eyes with her own iridescent blue animal eyes. The fork held a piece of Brigitte's tongue impaled on its tines. Ginger sat up straddling Brigitte as she ate the tongue. _

_ "You think you're fucking better than me, Brigitte? Because I became a slut, a druggie, and a fucking killer?"_

_ In reached under Brigitte's sternum and pulled out her heart. The agony continued to be vivid along with the feeling of suffocation. Ginger leisurely took a bite from Brigitte's heart and then put her own lupine face right up to Brigitte's again._

_ "Now it's your turn to be its whore, Brigitte. You'll paint your grief and anger with so much fucking blood that you will never be forgotten! You make me so fucking proud!"_

Brigitte woke up finally able to breathe again but painfully. Stabbing pain registered in every part of her body, especially her head. She tried to reach the light, but couldn't; she shook too much. She did not dare touch the call button. She grabbed her head in her hands and staggered out of bed toward the bathroom. Before she could take a second step, the pains in her head and jaw intensified to unimaginable.

Brigitte croaked out, "Ging-err!" before falling to her knees. Teeth fell out. She choked on one and spit it out, before she vomited blood, which also squirt from her two lower orifices. This bleeding continued for a long fifteen seconds, with pain hammering her throughout. Then, as Brigitte stopped retching and opened her eyes, she saw two large pools of blood joining together. She tried to draw breath, but could only gulp a little, and she exhaled it in a rattle. The pain began to dull as Brigitte sank swiftly into shock. Her final thought was of relief. _No, Ginger, I'm not chang . . ._

She collapsed next to the blood pool and went still, her eyes closed. The night wind howled mournfully.

And so ended Brigitte's two-year struggle against the disease that took her sister.


	15. Escape

**Chapter 15:**

ESCAPE

Brigitte's body lay still for no more than a minute. It began to shake; the shaking built into convulsions. It inhaled; its eyes opened. The irises had atomized and iridescent particles swam around the eyeball in a deranged frenzy. After rasping out a growl, the vocal cords shut down; so nothing but labored gasps, retching, and the cracking of bones reported the swift, profound changes to the brain and body. The ears grew longer and pointed; the head began to excrete oil as the skull altered itself on the fly. The face and jaws became larger. Bigger, sharper teeth pushed in.

Simultaneously, the transformation swept through the entire body. Its hands changed, with many fine pops and cracks, into marvels of engineering, good for manipulating or mutilating. The fingers gained harder, larger, sharper, retractable claws. The arms gained mass, in bone as well as muscle. The sternum and ribs cracked suddenly and shifted the chest and ribs to a slightly more triangular shape. The thighs and calves became sleeker and stronger, the leg bones both shortened and lengthened. The hips changed configuration. All through this, the spine and neck popped and cracked with many gross and fine adjustments. The tail lengthened. Fur pierced through new follicles, in beautiful shades of red and brown. The hair on the head shed its remaining old color for the new ones; then, like a bloom of flowers, it spread down the neck in sort of a mane.

Throughout the transformation, Brigitte experienced it as a horrid, vivid, but silent hallucination of wolves tearing her apart.

The changes stopped, as a lupine anthropoid opened its eyes. Terrifying to anybody gazing into them, those eyes blazed brown-orange with inhuman ferocity. She growled in relief and triumph. Unlike the Brigitte previously, she delighted in her new body. This Brigitte had, in her dreams, called herself God; she feared no remorse, lacked empathy, and saw human beings as fun or food. The suffering and trauma she had endured infused her with capricious fury. She would endure no more suffering; it was hers to give now.

She realized with elation the number of helpless people that could be trapped with her in this remote place, if she could make it hers. She had a plan. Greatly famished, she immediately began to lap up the blood, both to cover her change and as an appetizer. To herself, she thought of it as consuming the corpse of the old Brigitte.

_Plenty of toys for Bee to chew on! Very soon._

_

* * *

_

Ginger yelled right in June's ear as loud as she could, "JUNE! JUNE!"

June had been given the new drugs, and they had made her almost comatose. She could not think, could not decide what to do, could hardly move. She turned over on her back and mumbled out, "Gin-ger?"

"WAKE UP, NOW!"

The scream's volume seemed to strain June's ears. She opened her eyes, barely and tried to fix her gaze on Ginger, but it kept floating off center; her vision kept on crossing.

"June, something very bad has happened."

"Wha- With who?" said June.

"WITH BRIGITTE!"

Brigitte? June's thoughts went nowhere with that name, a still image of Brigitte sat in her mind and did not connect to anything else. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, puzzled and exhausted.

"JUNE! NO! Don't go back to sleep. COME ON! You have to do something. NOW!"

_I have to do something? That's right, I have a reason for being here . . . with Ginger and Brigitte. _

June pushed herself to sit up and drooled on herself.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice was not loud enough. "Hey!" She yelled up to the camera. "HEY!"

* * *

Brigitte had just finished lapping up the blood and cleaning her paws and face as the door opened. She leaped to her feet ready to spring, but it was Ginger peaking into the door, who said nothing, but beckoned her with a hand gesture to come out. A smell in the hallway attracted Brigitte. She walked toward Ginger. Reaching the door, Brigitte carefully looked, listened and smelled. Ginger stood across from her and gestured toward the nurse's station.

In that direction Brigitte heard and saw Laura alone behind the counter. From over twenty meters, Brigitte could hear the pen moving on the clipboard, and Laura definitely manned the station alone, though the interesting smells came from elsewhere. Then an electronic voice came from the TV monitor inside the nurse's station, June's voice.

"Hey. . . ! Hey . . . ! HEY!" When Laura went to answer it, Brigitte dashed silently up the hall and ducked beneath the counter. She imagined how her claw could whip with the crack speed of a snake and kill Laura with a single blow, and she thought of doing it just for the glee and rapture of it.

"Yes June?" said Laura, speaking into the intercom.

"Barth-oom," said June, sounding drunk.

"Be there in a sec . . ."

"Furkin' hurry!"

As Brigitte weighed whether to kill Laura and infect June, she heard a door being opened back behind the counter. She smelled June, whose sweat exuded the artificial odor of what Brigitte assumed was a drug. It smelled toxic and revolting. Brigitte concluded with frustration that she could not attack them without blowing her bigger plans. Besides, something smelled far more interesting, and it lay down the perpendicular hall.

Brigitte sprinted that direction, but unknown to her, something now followed: Ginger. Not the nightmare that beckoned Brigitte out of the room, but Ginger herself. Meanwhile, Brigitte's nose told her where to go. She came to an unmarked door resting ajar. Opening it immediately, she smelled the scents exuding from ahead, behind another door, also lying ajar. She went in, peaked back down the hall behind her. For a moment, she thought she saw Ginger who faded away, and further back, she could see Laura helping June across the hall. She silently shut the door. Brigitte marveled at the fact that even in what must be cave-like darkness she could still see easily. She stood in a custodian room. She had no interest in anything here except for the other door. Three meters away it stood. Behind it smelled and sounded of sex. Her stomach juices flowed. She felt seriously starved; this kill would be all business.

The door had a creak to it, so she had to open it slowly, while her impatient body roared to her for meat. She carefully closed it behind her. The concrete steps ran along the wall and had an old wooden railing. She could hear and smell the couple below. This room was huge. A lot of old junk filled it. They had a flashlight on, which threw stark shadows everywhere. He stood with his back to the stairs moaning; a female knelt in front of him. Brigitte took off her bloody gown and dropped it to the floor She sneaked down the steps crouching low, until she positioned herself directly behind them. She could see his body tense, and could hear and smell him getting close to climax, which both aroused and repulsed her.

The railing gave a slight creak as she vaulted it, but it did not matter. She landed in a crouch and lunged, landing a second time within arm's reach of him. With a deft move she had just learned, she broke his neck and slit his throat simultaneously. His paramour below him looked up, confused and then panicked. She stumbled trying to stand, gasping and choking, when blood spurted all over her. Brigitte recognized her, of course: Shannon, who immediately received a kick in the chest that sent her flying into a pile of junk. Shannon fainted without any more trouble for Brigitte.

Immediately, Brigitte put her own mouth to her kill's spurting throat and drank blissfully. It filled her, relieved her, and pleasured her all at once. It felt like one long orgasm going back and forth through her, and she saw the "fireworks," visual auras. Better than touching herself. When the corpse had bled out, she tore its scrub shirt off and ripped and bit into into the soft, exquisite tissue of its belly. He was one of the medical techs, though not the one Brigitte had hoped. She had never learned his name.

From the railing above, out of Brigitte's sight, Ginger had witnessed her sister's first kill. Part of Ginger still thought like a predator, and looking at it that way, the stalk and kill had been beautiful. To Ginger's own distress, she envied her sister. The kill made her feel a guilty hope within her hopelessness for Brigitte.

* * *

June had to be helped down the hall toward the bathroom. She could hardly walk. Laura kept her from falling. The bathroom seemed hundreds of meters away, and June really had to go. In fact, she could not remember the real reason she wanted to be released. When they finally got there and Laura opened the door, June had been ready to follow her in, but then remembered.

Laura stood holding the door open. Instead June turned and staggered the opposite way.

"June?"

June could feel a dull dread as she approached Brigitte's room, staggering, barely keeping her balance. She saw the door hanging open. Laura caught up to her. "June?"

June could only point, her face blank, and say, "Look . . . _look!_"

Laura said, "What?" before spotting the open door. Laura went up pushed it all the way open. "Brigitte?" she called, going in. June went to the doorway after her and could see the empty bed, with blood on it.

June thought it simply meant Brigitte had found a way out, and could not even recall why she feared otherwise. Then, she noticed a smell emanating from the room, and it reminded her of amniotic fluid: a birth. Behind her immobile face, even with the drug smothering all her other emotions, June felt deep terror.

* * *

Shannon began to wake. She opened her eyes to see some kind of wild animal devouring Will's abdomen. Its mane obscured its face. The light was poor. She had never had seen or imagined anything like this, large, horrid animal. Her breath caught . . .

Right then, the animal raised its head at her, it's teeth and mouth bloody. Its gaze plunged her, body and soul, into ice water. It swiftly spit out a piece of meat and casually said, "Better not scream."

Shannon wet herself. It took her minutes to realize she was still alive.

It had been a woman's, no, a girl's voice, unnaturally low on some syllables, but still a girl's voice. Due to the power of suggestion, Shannon could not scream now even if she wanted to. She tried to do better, to hold her breath just in case, but she still hyperventilated. She began to whimper as the animal continued to eat away Will's entrails and then ripped a much wider hole in his belly with its claw. With its teeth, it tore away and ate the skin. Now the gut was open on both sides right in front of her. She could not even take her eyes off of it. There was also a large pool of blood underneath the body.

_Poor Will! _Thought Shannon. She thought about how it must be hurting him, too shocked to even comprehend that Will had already died. She began to cry louder. The beast looked up.

"Shut up," it said, again casually, blood and drool dripping from its huge teeth; its eyes silenced her. It went back to eating again.

Immediately, Shannon felt her shock and grief welling up again; she began to cry. She strained to get her voice under control. The struggle felt like daggers in her chest. She failed; her crying became louder. With mind-breaking speed, a claw lashed out over her mouth and thrust her head into Will's abdomen. The claw remained clamped on her solidly. The sharp nails sank into her cheeks.

She could barely breathe, had terrible pain from her neck and jaw and stabbing pains in her face where the claws poked her. The guts smelled horrible, and she struggled to keep from suffocating. Without loosening its grasp, the creature went back to eating, its head next to Shannon's, with its claw clamped like a torture device on her face. All too explicitly, she heard its chewing, ripping and licking, punctuated by swallows, growls and grunts. She struggled hopelessly, while trying not to throw up, or upset it more in any way, before she mercifully fainted again.

* * *

Lewis and Frank sat at the table in the corner of the motel room, a fifth of vodka between them. They both had less than a shot in their cups. Neither of them intended to have any more. They needed an early start tomorrow, but lateness had long crept into the night. Outside the wind wailed and whistled, almost like a part of their conversation.

"They suspect that its caused by a retrovirus incorporated into the human genome millions of years ago," said Lewis.

"They?" said Frank.

"Our employers. It's only their best guess. They have no microbiologist on the team, and their only medical doctor, my late partner, was killed on a case a year ago. Introducing people into this is very difficult; I'm certain you can see why. No attempt to preserve a blood or tissue sample has been successful. Those samples from Brigitte? Gone by now, I'm certain. For a fully animalized werewolf, a tissue sample won't last an hour. A blood sample, not fifteen minutes."

The startled expression had not left Frank's face for the last thirty minutes. He did not previously have such an imagination but wished now that the wind howling outside did not sound so much like wolves. "Tell me about this 'team' and how they got involved, Lewis," Frank said.

"That's the strangest thing about all this."

"What?" said Frank, his surprise meter gaining a new maximum.

"It is! I was hired two and a half years ago by two retired emeritus professors to investigate a very odd death and missing person case. One, Dr. Hiram Caskeys, is a professor of astronomy. Filthy rich, too. The other, Dr. Thomas Brindley, is a statistical mathematician. They were soul-mates, they've been living together since the fifties, I think. Hiram was spending his retirement following ground-breaking work on dark matter. The other one, Thomas is a bit of a savant, a statistical mathematician. He had taken up reading the news and history and gathered unusual data from them. He plotted graph after graph from the data he culled, all very odd things.

"One night, the two sat down for dinner, and they happened to put two graphs down on the dinner table side-by-side. Understand, these were graphs of two totally unrelated things. Just by coincidence, they matched. Two totally unrelated things, Frank, and they matched almost dot by dot.

"It turns out, Thomas' graph had been on the number of certain supernatural reports year-by-year through history. The other graph, from a scientific notes, was of the theoretical prevalence of a certain, newly detected, _dark matter _particles bombarding the earth, extrapolated back through history."

* * *

Shannon awakened again. Her hair and face felt sickening; she knew they were loaded with blood and gore. The creature sat on its haunches five feet from her and, licking its paw, cleaning itself. She felt thankful it did not look at her again. The corpse lay to one side of them. The flashlight had been moved closer. She could make out certain features unseen before. It looked more like a freak of nature than she even had previously perceived. In some ways, it did look human, but with its knees and ankles too high on its legs, it sat on its haunches with its legs folded more like a quadruped, but splayed. It had two normal, human female breasts at the top, but four other large nipples on its torso. It was covered with fur except in some places, including the face. _Is this an alien?_ Nothing about it made any sense. She got up and backed away. It continued to clean itself, ignoring her. She ran around it toward the steps and just about reached them when a claw landed on her shoulder and stopped her dead, the tines digging in painfully deep.

"It's locked," the creature said quietly as its other arm wrapped around her throat.

It pulled her away from the steps, shoved her down on the corpse and stood over her, its gaze pinning her down. It then crouched down in front of her, and reached into the corpse. Something snapped loudly. It removed a rib with meat on it, and held it up to Shannon, and then snapped it in half.

Pausing between the sentences, it said casually, "I _love_ the sound of bones breaking. . . . So, you know how fast I am now. . . . So, run again, I'll break your leg . . . maybe both."

Then it put the end of one half of the rib in its mouth sucked at it, then crunching it, thoroughly chewing a piece of it up and swallowing, then it began to chew the flesh off of it, before holding the other half toward Shannon. "Hmm, ribs. Want one?"

Shannon shook her head, too shocked to catch the sarcasm.

"Oh. I forgot. You prefer his other bone," it gestured toward his naked crotch. "That one- doesn't work too good anymore."

Shannon kept her eyes averted. The voice had suddenly begun to sound somehow familiar.

It threw the rib-halves back down on the corpse and began to lick its fingers. Afterward, it wiped them on the corpse's pants.

"I'm curious," said the creature, "Did it taste good? Never tried it myself. You see, I always found that too _disgusting!_"

As it shouted the last word, it grabbed her by the back of her neck with a snarl and put the claw over her throat and picked Shannon up to its face. To her surprise, it was actually shorter than her. She tried to struggle, but its whole body seemed to be made of iron, and she could not get out of the way from its stare enough to be able to think. It sniffed her and released the hand on her throat.

"How many guys do I smell on you?" it asked, enraged. "Ten?"

It loosened its grip. Its mood seemed to change, its voice lightened. "Am I right, ten guys? Just in here?" Shannon nodded, she thought it was about right.

Suddenly its mood changed, it sounded incredulous and actually curious, "How do you do that?"

Shannon puzzled over this question. She seemed to have nowhere to begin the answer.

"I fucking couldn't do anything like that. Not just 'wouldn't,' I mean 'couldn't.'" It sniffed her again, this time with some glee. "Fuck, you're like a walking porno, love."

Shannon felt humiliated. It smiled, or maybe it sneered. Teeth that size could not possibly make a friendly smile.

"So, Shannon," said the creature, suddenly affectionate, releasing the back of her neck and instead grabbing the front of her shirt. "I want to know now: what the fuck are you?"

_It knows my name!_

"I don't know what . . . your . . . " Shannon said.

She yelled as a claw pierced her deep in the throat. The creature brought the claw back to its nose. A drop of blood hung from its tip. It sniffed.

"Your blood smells all wrong; just like your whole fucking scent does," said the creature. "WHAT ARE YOU?"

"I don't know what . . . "

Shannon's finger snapped. She screamed into the paw that suddenly covered her mouth, then it let her fall to her hands and knees, crying, holding her hand to her chest. The creature kicked her other arm out from under her; she fell on her face, her stricken hand underneath her. It knelt down on her, putting its knee on her back and then it took her other hand in its paws again.

"We have nine to go, before we go on to bigger and better things. _What the fuck are you, Shannon_?"

"Brigitte, stop!" said a voice out of the darkness of the room.

Shannon heard the creature call out, "Ginger! I thought I heard you crying somewhere in here. What's wrong? I'm growing up, and you're not?"

"Can't you let it go by now, Bee?"

"Oh? Who was right in that fucking argument? And what happened since?"

"I guess you can't," said Ginger, exasperated.

Brigitte looked around for her sister, who then stepped out into view from a pile of junk twelve feet in front of Brigitte. For Ginger, she could not watch this any longer and do nothing. She felt she had to somehow save this girl. Knowing Brigitte now lacked any sense of mercy to appeal to, the only other thing Ginger could think of actually repulsed her: deception. She decided to lay it on thick.

"I know what she is, Bee. "

"You do?" Brigitte stood up, and left Shannon lying there crying. "How?"

"I'm a fucking spirit. I have second-sight, like June. She's protected. Don't hurt her any more." Ginger was still furiously trying to come up with the lie. The only advantage: Brigitte would not expect Ginger herself to have any empathy either.

Brigitte stalked up to Ginger. "Well, what is she, then?"

"It's dangerous for me to even tell you," said Ginger, trying to buy time. _What is wrong with me? I never had this much trouble thinking of a lie before. _

Brigitte laughed. "Why are you bullshitting me? To save- _her? _You hate the bitch, Ginger. She's gross."

_Got it!_ "I swear I'm not shittin' you Bee." She bent forward as though afraid it might be heard and whispered, "Fey."

Brigitte recoiled in surprise. "Your such a liar!"

Ginger did not let that stop her. "Bee, you're a werewolf talking to a ghost, and now you're skeptical? Remember what happened when I disbelieved you? She has fey blood in her, Bee. I'm telling you. Spirits protect her, and they get pissed off. I can see all that. For your own safety, I wouldn't hurt her anymore."

Brigitte seemed to be trying hard to ponder this. Ginger felt sad watching it: her sister was no longer good at pondering. Then Brigitte looked back up frustrated, then angry.

"Get the fuck out of my face and don't come back, Ginger," said Brigitte, as she swiped her arm through Ginger, who gasped and disappeared.

Brigitte walked slowly back and sat next to Shannon, who had turned over on her back and groaned with her hand shaking.

She put her paw on Shannon's leg. Brigitte's fingers tapped on Shannon's thigh, and then she gently moved it to Shannon's wounded hand. "It's just a little finger, love." Brigitte patted it, and barely restrained her impulse to squeeze it.

Shannon whimpered nervously. She did not know what to make of its talking to itself and this sudden change of mood, even if patients in a psych hospital tended to do just those things. She could glance only momentarily into its eyes now. She looked away. _Patients in a psych hospital?_ It hit her with a start. "Brigitte?"

Brigitte laughed. "You didn't know already? Yes, Brigitte. Fucking amazing what a little change in makeup and hair dye will do. Now, Shannon, I need your help to decide between two plans. We can either continue with plan A, where I break all your bones one by one, make you bleed, rip your guts out, and tear you into fucking little-itty-bitty pieces. Then we have plan B.

"Which do you want to do?"


	16. Playgrounds

**Chapter 16:**

PLAYGROUNDS

"Come on June! Please, please open your eyes," Ginger cried, begging.

June complied passively, but she was so exhausted and disoriented.

Ginger continued, "You must do something now June! She has killed somebody already . . . and eaten them!"

_ Did she just say Brigitte had eaten them? _So absurd, until June's slow memory crept to recall how Brigitte had almost eaten her. June falsely hoped that she had dreamed this and closed her eyes again, but she knew this was real.

"Ginger . . . too drugged . . . Can't do it," June said.

"Why did you let them give you the fucking drug, you idiot!"

"Because I couldn't stop it."

_ Because they would never let me out of here if I didn't comply._

Ginger screamed at her in multiples of the word "fuck" and variations on "lying, useless bitch," but June heard nothing else; her mind busily wrestled with its guilt. She knew she could have actually avoided it, but it had become too easy to cooperate. When June had her breakdown, her assured, conceited persona had died the death of ten swords, but June now knew she had better start to channel it.

"Do you . . . do you know where she is?" asked June. It was hard to speak.

"What?" asked Ginger, interrupted in what was now a tirade.

"Can you . . . point to her? Her direction?"

"Yes," said Ginger, hopefully, pointing down and to the right.

"At all times?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how she got out?"

"Yes."

"We'll get to her, Ginger. I need you with me, then."

June hoped that she had baited Dr. Gadepalli just enough. She counted on the near certainty that he had to explain the disappearance to somebody. That somebody will be unhappy, and also will probably be as dangerous as Brigitte. _Poor man. Who's he going to turn to then?_

* * *

"Physics and dark matter are way beyond me," said Frank.

"It's way beyond both of us," said Lewis. "The only thing you really have to know about it is this: when these certain particles of dark matter, nematons, are bombarding the earth, werewolfism can spread. When they are absent, it can't. If they are absent long enough, werewolfism dies out.

"Until five years ago, werewolves were extinct for three centuries. Starting five years ago, the earth became exposed to nematons again, but never more than twenty-five days in a year. You see, the particle storms are sporadic even in the active periods. That's the reason why there are not more werewolves and why, until now, you did not know it was real."

"So, it's been extinct," said Frank, furrowing his brow that was otherwise devoid of wrinkles. "If it died out, when it comes back, where does it come from?"

"Hiram and Thomas conjecture that the virus must be resident and dormant in some people's DNA, and when the nematons reach a certain threshold, it must activate and turn them spontaneously into werewolves, but that's just an educated guess. We do not know yet, Frank. There is no microbiologist on the team, and our only medical doctor, my late partner, was killed on a case last year."

Lewis took a taste of vodka to make sure he did not start to dream of the late Dr. Cynthia Hart. The woman did the world a service, and nobody knew about her, but he needed to keep the conversation to the point and not reminisce.

"So, how is it the full moon effects them?" asked Frank.

"We don't know that either. It seems to usually follow the moon cycle, but there have been exceptions, and the exceptions have all been females. Real werewolves are different from Hollywood werewolves. They gradually change from the time they're infected, but the biggest changes are still on the night of the first full moon after they were infected.

Frank shook his head. "If the changes are gradual over the first cycle, why haven't people reported it by now?"

"Because infected people invariably deny it, and continue to hide changes they undergo later. Denial seems to be its first symptom. According to intermediate stage werewolves we've rescued . . .

"Rescued?" Frank asked.

"Yes . . . in fact, we call them _rescues _. . . I'll come to that later. According to them, it feels like a deep guilt. They'll run off and hide before the changes are detected. An infected host will keep it secret from others, becoming very paranoid about discovery. They'll kill dogs that bark at them, because dogs can recognize them and will try to rat them out. I've known a few to kill family members who get too inquisitive. It's exactly like the disease doesn't want people to know that you have it."

"Aren't they taken to the hospital? How do they hide it when they're badly wounded?"

"The initial infecting wounds heal with incredible speed, Frank. You've never seen anything like it. They can heal in minutes. This only happens first with infecting wounds. In general their healing doesn't accelerate much until later in the process. By then, they can heal from unset compound fractures in a few hours.

"Otherwise, they're not well known because investigators don't know what to look for. Let's say you have a child missing from a yard, and some blood is found. How would you start to investigate that, Frank. What would you look for?"

"So, what else isn't like Hollywood?" asked Frank.

"They're still most dangerous during the full moon, but instead of changing back afterward, they'll stay animalized and will get stronger and tougher every full moon afterward. Until Daphne's case proved otherwise, I thought it was permanent. They're intelligent, they know what firearms are, and they'll avoid giving you a clear shot until they can disarm you. And they can open doors."

"Open doors?"

"Yes, their paws can grasp, even though they're somewhat blunt. They have no opposable thumbs, but they can rotate their wrists."

"Anything else different?" asked Frank.

"If there's more than one of them they will cooperate to bring you down. Oh, and they can speak to each other."

Lewis' face was grave serious, and Frank thought for sure he would deadpan, "Just kidding." He did not.

"They talk?" said Frank, realizing now that this night had changed his life.

"Yes, I made recordings of growls on three of my assignments, and the team hired a cryptographer and a linguist to analyze them. The words were nothing sophisticated, but it turns out they were in English, except in Daphne's case they were in French-Canadian.

"You're not kidding," said Frank, who had no capacity for incredulity anymore.

"No, it's compact, it's in a far lower register, and most vowels and consonants are different, but they are definitely English words. Nothing you could understand without experts translating it over a few hours, but count on werewolves understanding you."

"Now, that does sound supernatural to me," said Frank.

"Yes it does, one reason why I pray. Oh, speaking of supernatural sounding, I forgot to tell you this: they are actually like Hollywood vampires in one respect. A werewolf at any stage is under the sway of the one that infected it. It's sporadic in the early stages, but it becomes stronger as the disease progresses."

"Now, Lewis, this _does _sound supernatural," said Frank.

"I thought so, too, till rescues told us it had to do with understanding their speech and with smell. Some kind of pack instinct is in play, and it seems like dominance is carried by scent among werewolves."

That cued Frank to remember something he wanted to ask much earlier. "Why did you find Daphne's case to be so hard?"

Lewis paused, then said, "Besides what I already said? I guess I forgot to give you a context." He paused again. He paused again, trying to find the words for it. Then said, "Daphne was a child-killer, Frank. Friends and family said she was the ideal mother. Just an extremely gentle, kind young woman. She literally would not hurt a mouse.

"That was before she was infected. When she went _intermediate,_ she disappeared with her son. So, even as she cut her ties to humankind, she would not abandon her child, but it ended horribly. The evidence I found was conclusive: she tore him to pieces, Frank." Lewis stopped or his composure would crack.

"Lewis . . ." Frank did not have the words he needed to calm Lewis.

Lewis recovered, he spoke softly. "It had a lasting effect on what she became. Because she killed two other children before she was even out of the intermediate phase, and afterward, she continued to hunt small children and she was extremely clever at it. She would even do it in broad daylight. By the time it came to an end last month, I traced seven other missing children to her across three provinces, and I suspect there might have been a dozen more, all from one werewolf with a fetish."

"Three provinces?" asked Frank.

Lewis took a sip and went on. "Yes, ordinarily they will range for hundreds of miles, Daphne ranged for thousands. These creatures literally never tire out as long as they could eat. For months I never got any rest. Once they have escaped into the wilderness, they are almost impossible to track. You just have to wait until somebody or something is attacked, but if you get under their skin enough, they will get a vendetta against you, and they'll come after you. That's how I caught Daphne. But at such a high cost.

"The end was the worst part of it. I wish I had never seen her in person and looked into her eyes. She remembered what she did. There was no going back for her, Frank. What was I thinking?"

* * *

Brigitte had the junk out of the way and she had begun to remove the planks from the ancient wooden door she had spotted earlier, betting that it led to the abandon wings proper. She could hear Shannon behind her retching.

"Hey, Bee, it was like that with me, too," said Brigitte, not turning around. "Believe me, you'll think of it as your favorite meal later on."

Shannon vomited out what Brigitte had forced her to consume as the words aggravated her nausea. She wished to die. Images of suicide came into her mind as her guts wrenched: eating glass and razor blades and bleeding to death over hours or days, cutting herself and dying of an infection over weeks, shooting herself in the head while alone and dying undiscovered over hours; or more realistically, pushing Brigitte into breaking her bones one by one, as earlier threatened. Right now, it all seemed better than living with what she had done, anticipating what she would turn into, or being with Brigitte now. Shannon could not find the bravery in herself to rouse Brigitte into killing her, not yet, not while sober and straight. A single finger broken had been excruciating enough. She so craved wine and weed now, or anything stronger. The bite on the neck still hurt constantly, as did the lacerations on her face, shoulder and neck, but the worst of all was her twisted little finger on her left hand, which pointed out to the side uselessly.

Brigitte had cleaned her, that is licked all of the blood off of her. Of course, this made Shannon feel even more soiled and slimy. She should have never agreed to this. _I fucking wanted to save my fucking shit of a life. _Now she was turning into whatever Brigitte was. About that, Brigitte had been evasive.

Brigitte pulled the last slat off. She yanked at the door. "I don't fucking believe it, Bee. The door's nailed shut, too. You'd almost think they'd expect patients to try to escape from here. Imagine that!"

Shannon picked up the flashlight as she heard a creaking noise. Brigitte's arm moved like a crack of a whip. She picked it up and tossed it at her, shouting, "Here, Bee, catch!"

A small object flew at Shannon's face. She saw it in the flashlight beam, and ugly mouth with two long teeth and pink, beady eyes, _a live rat!_ She screamed tried to dodge it, but it caught her on the chest. She danced around batting at it with a flashlight, slipped on a piece of meat and fell backward. Brigitte caught her before she cracked her head on the floor, and put her down flat.

"You should have seen your expression; you almost died," said Brigitte, squealing with girlish laughter. The flashlight rolled away, and except for Brigitte's hateful eyes, they were in total darkness. Shannon rolled and scrambled after it. She did not want to be alone in the dark with this- _thing_.

"You looked a little sleepy, Bee," said Brigitte. "Come on, love, I was just having fun with you."

Shannon reached the flashlight as Brigitte continued, "You know when you've grown up when they don't scare you anymore. You'll be playing catch with them, too. You ever wonder how they taste? No? I do now. Guess I'll have a chance to find out."

"Yeah . . . I guess, funny," said Shannon. _Why does she keep calling me Bee?_

"You thought so, really?" asked Brigitte sarcastically. Shannon's smell indicated no such thing. _The liar isn't going to play. She's getting _really boring.

Brigitte turned her attention to the door and attempted to yank it open. The old nob and lock came right off leaving a hole. She put her paw in the hole and pulled, but had no traction. Putting her foot against the wall, she pulled again, and the nails began to give. She put her fingers into the crack, extended her claws into the wood and pulled more. After a few minutes, during which Brigitte shifted her grip multiple times, the nails gave, sending her flying. She caught her fall as deftly as a cat, except her paw landed square on two nails pointing straight up from discarded board, impaling her palm.

"FUCK!" she shouted, nails sticking out from the back of her paw. She sprung to her feet, pulled the board out of her hand. Enraged, she threw large pieces of junk around the room, not swearing anymore, but roaring. As Shannon watched, Brigitte became like a rampaging tyrannosaurus throwing heavy furniture larger than herself around the room. As Brigitte reached her, Shannon hoped Brigitte would kill her. Instead Brigitte threw her on a junk pile full of metal and wood. She fell on her front side giving her deep bruises in a half-dozen places. She tried to play dead. After a long period, Brigitte stopped, breathing through her fangs, which dripped with foam. She then shook her wounded hand, no longer hurting so much, and said nothing to Shannon.

Going back to the open door, she stuck her head out to see a long corridor going both ways. It was filled with large and small debris and had plenty of doors, both ways, both sides. To the right, it went on as far as Brigitte could see, to the left it went on for twenty more meters with three doors all on the other side, to then make a T with another corridor. She knew how dark it had to be, and marveled at how her new vision gave it a beautiful, sourceless, and almost shadowless light. She stepped out into the cold hallway and saw own breath as she exhaled. A wicked shade of some color she had never seen before. Far away, she could smell more rats out of sight and actually heard grains of dust shift beneath their tiny feet as they skittered around.

Brigitte felt free for the first time in her life. This building, discarded and so untouched since, had waited for her to give it life for so long. It was hers, her territory now, and the game here would be hers, too. She was the force of nature that would give it a heart now. She howled down the hallway, more like a human keen as it sounded out, but more like a wolf's howl echoing back, released in joy, but sounding mournful in both directions. Unseen by Brigitte, ghosts haunting the building heard her and stirred from their torpid routines with confused anticipation.

"Wicked!" said Brigitte. She went back into the room and said to Shannon, "Bee, oh Bee! Wake up sleepy-head. Come to the playground. We're moving out of Bailey Downs, now."

When Shannon continued to play dead, Brigitte kicked the pile under her. "It's aftermath time, sweetheart."

_ What the fuck does she mean?_ Shannon crawled over to get the flashlight again. She began to get up when Brigitte's hand reached down to help her. Shannon paused, transfixed as the wounds on Brigitte's paw healed before her eyes. Equally uneasy, Brigitte saw that the bite wound in Shannon's neck, the one that Brigitte herself had given her, was not healing.

_Fuck! Maybe Ginger wasn't lying. She's immune to the Curse. _

Shannon stood up and Brigitte smelled fresh blood from a laceration in Shannon's left upper arm. Brigitte took Shannon's arm, tore the sleeve away from the wound, and began to lick it, then, began to suck it. Shannon closed her eyes in revulsion, shaking in pain. She wished Brigitte would begin to tear into her now. _Please, finish me off!_

It occurred to Brigitte that maybe Shannon's blood had some sort of magical quality. It tasted luscious and odd, she began to see Sam in her parent's bed again, no longer ashamed about the explicitness of her fantasies. _Maybe fey blood was some kind of aphrodisiac?_ She touched herself, and had she not fed so recently, she would be tearing into Shannon now. Brigitte stopped sucking and looked up at Shannon, her face clearly flushed with very human arousal. "I'm so in love with you!"

Shannon swallowed and went numb.

"Not really," said Brigitte. "Just joking, love. That would be gross. I'm carrying a torch. Isn't that sad?"

Shannon was never so relieved to be so insulted in her life. _Carrying a torch? For what on earth?_ She could read no emotion in Brigitte's face now, not human enough, and she still could not stand its eyes.

"Guess the fucking exercise made me hungry," said Brigitte. "Good thing for you your boyfriend has some meat left on him."

"Yeah," said Shannon.

_ She's fucking irritating, _Brigitte thought. She had to do something if not kill her. If the curse did not work on Shannon, Brigitte definitely could not have her running free. First, however, Brigitte would have more fun with her new friend.

"That reminds me," said Brigitte. "Heads or tails, love?"

Shannon went bolt upright. "Heads or tails, what?" said Shannon, whispering with dread.

Brigitte walked over to Will's corpse. "We still have to clean up after dinner, do dishes and all that," said Brigitte. She reached down and snapped the corpse's spine. The body now lay in two halves. She lifted and held them up in each paw, her claws dug in to secure it, one by the shoulder, the other by the ankle. "Which do you want to carry? Heads or tails?"

Shannon did not answer.

"Tails it is," said Brigitte giggling, tossing the bloody leg-section to Shannon.

* * *

"Why aren't there more attacks?" asked Frank.

"Too smart," said Lewis, "they know about police, about guns. They don't want to alert people to themselves so they choose their targets, and when they do, they hide or obscure their kills. They're prone to killing impulsively, though, especially during the full moon. Now that I told you all this, Frank, are you going to stay on the case?"

Frank chuckled. "You don't hear about something like this and not see it for yourself."

Lewis felt triumphant. _Just what I knew you would say._ "Just promise me you won't back out on me after you see one."

"No, I won't, I promise." Frank put his plastic cup down on the table with a pop. "So, what about this particular case?"

"Besides what you already know? Brigitte's journal cleared some things up. Her sister Ginger was infected but stayed with the family right up until the full moon. She was the only _intermediate_ to have done that, Frank. I'm surprised it did not result in many more getting killed. She managed to pass her physical changes off to people as Halloween costuming for a month. At the end, she was bold. She actually went to a Halloween party. She was barely still human and people thought she had created the best costume ever. It was a full moon that Halloween. We know that Ginger killed three people that night and that it ended in the Fitzgerald house. The journal confirms it was her, and not the Beast of Bailey Downs that died in the Fitzgerald house that night. That beast is still unaccounted for.

"What we do know about Brigitte is that she was very devoted to her sister, and we know little else of substance. Then there's Jason McCarty, Ginger's ex-boyfriend. He's fully animalized, he has been tracking Brigitte all over the country, preparing to mate with her. We could only hope he hasn't found her yet. He is two-years changed now, that's two dozen full moons. I've never faced one nearly that old; I have no idea what he can do. Prepare for him to be very hard to fight."

"So, what do you hit them with? Silver bullets?"

"No, abusive language," said Lewis.

Frank laughed. Finally some humor.

"No, I'm not joking, Frank. It's what saved my life against Daphne. They're very smart, but they have very poor impulse control. If you could goad them into attacking you before you're trapped, exhausted and disarmed, you have a chance. But silver bullets do not work, and yes, I did try them. I've brought a few firearms, Hiram let me splurge. I suggest a magnum or shotgun at close range. At medium range, if I could only carry an Uzi, I'd use one. As it is, I have to settle for a Glock.

"And then, I need to show you these." Lewis got up, the slightest bit tipsy, and he went over to the closet and pulled out two sawed off hockey sticks with two permanent-marker sized tubes taped to their ends. "These are refurbished auto-injectors," said Lewis. "I put them on sticks to make them more of a distance weapon, like a spear. Believe me, with _intermediates_ you want distance."

"Like those epi-pens they use for allergies?"

"Yes, exactly. If you run into an _intermediate_ like Brigitte, and we have to fight her, have the cap off first and try to hit her with the tip. It will immediately cure her. The werewolf symptoms will be gone in minutes. We also have two hypodermics with the counter-agent as well."

"What about one that's, you know, jumped over the moon?"

"Don't try it," said Lewis.

"No?"

"No. If you have a fully animalized werewolf in your midst, you're fighting for your life. Don't think of curing it. Hit it with anything that takes it down. Then worry about keeping it down.

"Odd thing about this cure is it's primarily silver ions and nano-silver. I told you that silver doesn't do anything, but experimenting with it, we found that silver tarnish does."

"Silver tarnish?"

"Yes, silver oxide. The nearest I could guess is that they did not have many shiny, silver blades in medieval Europe, but by accident, the tarnished silver blades they used seemed to do the job. So, it came down through the legend that silver killed werewolves when really silver oxide that did the trick. It did not do it alone, but a smear of it off the blade would slow down their ability to heal, and slow them down in general. It's because of the silver legend and Sam Bordell's notes about monkshood from the Bailey Down's incident that we came up with a cure, which is silver ions and nano-silver. We thought it just interfered with the virus, but since Daphne, _the team_ has been rethinking that."

"But it doesn't work on a bullet?"

"You can't get enough silver tarnish on a bullet to do enough, and silver bullets are too soft and melt at too low a temperature." Lewis checked the time. "We need to get to sleep, and get the trail back tomorrow. Any other questions?"

"Just hundreds," said Frank. "Do they prey on anything besides people and dogs?" Frank asked.

"Yes, they will prey on any animal, but it's not quite accurate to say they prey on us."

"What?"

"They will eat human meat, though."

Frank was not used to didactic distinctions, not from himself, not from Lewis. "Lewis, what do you mean it isn't accurate?"

"Remember Brigitte's fifty chromosomes?"

"How could I forget that?" said Frank.

"They are not predatory on us; they are _genocidal against us._"


	17. Reemerging

**Chapter 17:**

RE-EMERGING

"Why was her door unlocked?" asked the doctor angrily, opening the door for emphasis, but immediately closing it as the stench hit him.

"I can't explain it, doctor," said Laura, "I came right down the hall and locked it right after you gave the order."

Laura could not help but notice with awe that the doctor still dressed and groomed himself impeccably, even though she had called him in the late night, and he drove at least twenty kilometers in a deathly cold windstorm. She had to immediately inform him that two additional people, Shannon Newberry and William David, could not be found as well. Usually a patient man, Dr. Gadepalli almost fired her on the spot, except he had more serious problems on his hands right now to undertake restaffing his short night-shift. He knew what trouble this put him in: unlike for Brigitte or Will, Shannon's disappearance would mean an immediate, full-blown police investigation. He could be up on charges soon. He barked questions at Laura, who kept a stoical face.

"And the staff knew her door was to remain locked tonight?" he asked.

"I told all of them."

"I want you to call a staff meeting again," said the doctor, "Have them first make sure that we are not missing anyone else. Call in three people early from the day shift, then I want the staff and security to look for how they escaped, including the boy's ward, everywhere."

"Yes doctor," said Laura. As Laura turned, the doctor could see her for the first time ever looking crestfallen. _You were in charge; you should be ashamed. _

The doctor then went warily into Brigitte's room. The stench raised his hackles and practically plugged his nostrils. He brought a kerchief to his mouth and nose. The odor struck him as vaguely familiar, but he could not place it. From across the room, he looked first at the blood on the bottom sheet noticing its somewhat brownish cast, a stain about as large as a hand-span with two smaller stains. Late menstrual blood,but more of it than he had ever seen. He could never forget how Brigitte started to menstruate her first day in this hospital. As he stepped toward the bed, his shoes stuck to the floor, and the soles pulled loose with a sick noise. Then, he stepped on something like a pebble, which crunched. Intrigued, he crouched down. The horrible smell emanated from this area of floor, where small, yellow objects lay scattered. His mind jumped in surprise when he saw their shapes. He picked one up needing to see it closer: _A human tooth._

He brought it to his eyes holding it vertically between his thumb and forefinger: a molar. It suddenly crumbled.

_ Anatomically correct, but not a real tooth_, he concluded.

Looking around, he saw almost a whole set of these manufactured teeth on the floor. He needed to find something to collect them in, but later. First, he stood up, went to Brigitte's locker and opened it. She had left her winter coat and scarf. He found her canvas bag at the bottom, took it out and looked in it. Empty. He felt around inside, not knowing exactly what puzzled him about it. He found nothing. Replacing it, he then went to Brigitte's drawers, opened each and scoured through them. He saw that Brigitte had left behind all her clothes: so, her disappearance could not be explained by a simple escape.

He concluded she likely had not left the building at all. Maybe, also, the others had not.

_ Then_ i_t is not necessary to call the police, _he thought, with relief.

Taking one last look at the blood spots on her bed, he then left the room, closing the door behind him quickly, happy to be away from the smell, and hoping it did not somehow linger on him. He resolved to search Shannon's room and Will's locker as well. He walked by the nurse's station, turning at the T, where Laura was giving instructions to the six remaining staff, not including security and the two nurses watching the boys' ward.

The staff notes agreed: among patients, Brigitte had communicated almost exclusively with June Collier. June would have the answers. He would loathe to ask her the questions, though, given that her delusions last night sounded distressingly close to what he had actually done. Drugged and locked in IS-OB, she obviously did not participate in the breakout, but she had to have either engineered or communicated it to Brigitte.

He continued down the hall to his office. Closing the door behind him, he took the briefcase out of his closet and opened it on his desk, again seeing the incredible amount of cash weighing on his conscience. He took the cellphone out of the compartment to make his call. "Kay" answered, and the doctor followed the same procedure as before. This time there was a pause before "R" came on. The doctor then heard the same electronically disguised generic male voice on the line as before. It said, "Really doctor, this late at night? You're paid too much to complain at the last minute."

Dr. Gadepalli could hear an edge in the voice. "I am afraid there is bad news," he said. "Your 'niece' is gone, because you did not tell me everything I needed to know about her."

"We also paid you too much to shift the blame," said R, with irritation. "I thought your facility was secure. Didn't you lock her door tonight?"

"Of course I did, but she got out anyway. She left her clothes, and security wasn't breached; so she is still in the building, in the abandoned section, I think," said Dr. Gadepalli.

"How did she get out?" asked the voice, irritated.

"I do not know the particulars, of course, there are a few questions I have to ask before I could even guess."

"How is it that in a secure building those old wings weren't sealed off?"

"They were, or at least, until now I believed they were. Would . . .

"Wait."

". . . you tell me at least . . . ?" the doctor then realized he was on hold, or on a dead phone. He waited. Nothing happened. He looked at the LED-screen. It still counted up the call time second by second, so the call was still active. The doctor continued to wait for a long time, wishing he had the bravery to simply hang up now. He wondered if he could make himself offer them their money back and if then they would leave him and his family alone. He just wanted this shameful episode of his life to be over now.

"R" came back on the line sounding angry, "Doctor, call again only if you find her, not before, and I expect due diligence about it. Otherwise, keep the phone on your person and wait for me to call. Do not leave it in the closet of your office the way you have been."

"What . . . ? How did you know?"

The call dropped.

After he stopped talking into the dead phone, he realized what due diligence meant: if Brigitte, Shannon and Will did not show up soon, he had no choice but to question June, despite the implications it might have for her recovery. He hated to involve another patient in his malfeasance, and also knew how difficult sorting the truth out of her current delusional state might be, but at least he felt no fear of exposure from June.

_Nobody believes a crazy woman, _he thought_._

_

* * *

_

Wearing nothing but a bloodied, dirty robe and a pair of slippers, once Shannon crossed into the old wings with Brigitte, her mind became a chilled blur. As Brigitte took her along, cold and fear kept Shannon shivering for hours. Her feet and hands went numb. When Shannon could not hold the flashlight steady anymore, Brigitte became irate, and crushed it, leaving Shannon to wander shivering with her in total darkness. Brigitte later expressed aggravation about her teeth chattering. Shannon feared Brigitte next would knock her teeth out. She grasped her own jaws together, clamping her fingers on her eye sockets and anchoring her palms on her lower jaw, and she stumbled after Brigitte in the dark that way. She paid no attention to Brigitte's bantering to Ginger or Sam, or her parents, or to her talking about Bailey Downs, Dr. Gadepalli, or June. Shannon shivered convulsively now. Her hypothermic mind had no attention span for anything but the most immediate. She merely followed in the dark, stumbling after Brigitte's voice. More and more, Brigitte had to physically drag her.

_Why is she keeping me around?_

Shannon concluded that Brigitte simply enjoyed watching her freeze to death.

Now Shannon stood in solid darkness; she could hear water dripping. She heard the metal on metal scraping sounds like tiny light bulbs being screwed in. Brigitte bantered on about what it was, but Shannon could not comprehend any of it. She could no longer even hold her jaws shut; her hands and arms were too tired. The numbness in her limbs dulled but did not kill the pain of all the lacerations and bruises she suffered. She had little attention left, her mind and senses had dimmed almost equally to the blind darkness of the room.

"Okay, Bee, give me your hand," Brigitte said, taking Shannon's bad hand. Shannon whimpered out weakly, as pain from her finger spiked through the numbness. Brigitte laughed. "I mean your other hand, baby."

_So fucking humorous!_

Brigitte put Shannon's right hand on something that was about at chest level and closed Shannon's fingers around it. "Now, I want you to hold your hand right there," said Brigitte.

Despite Shannon's arm hanging on it, she had no idea of the shape or texture of what she held. She had no mental energy for wondering about it. This would presumably be as horrible a surprise as every other torment she received from Brigitte. She just wanted it to end.

"Now give it just a moment, Bee. . . ." said Brigitte. Water splashed. There was a slight pause. "Now lift it! Push it up!"

Shannon tried to push it up. It did not budge.

"DO IT!" Brigitte roared.

Shannon flinched. With a surge of extra adrenaline, she took both hands and pushed. It budged, it gave, and she lifted a lever into the upright position. She felt and heard a metallic "clunk" of a huge switch closing, while bright sparks of electricity danced in front of her face. She recoiled and backed away. An overhead light flickered and turned on, dazzling her completely.

Before she shut her eyes and covered her face, she saw the room. The lever she pushed up was on a huge, old fuse box, so dusty and ancient that any electrician would replace it in panic. It continued to spark as Shannon tried to open her dazzled eyes. She also saw that she stood up to her ankles in ice water; her feet had been too numb for her to even know.

Brigitte, meanwhile, stood behind Shannon on the steps, out of the water, disappointed that her useless friend did not get zapped.

_ Fuck! The dance would have been a scream, but . . . it would have stank. _

Her own stunned eyes adjusted to the repugnant world of light, the world people had made, the one they depended on. Brigitte hated it. Unlike people, she did not ruin the beauty of darkness; she went up the steps and turned off the light switch.

While she preferred to do without light, she needed to power up a toy or two that she had found for later play. "Let's call it a night, love," she said with exaggerated tenderness. "I have someplace for you to sleep."

Shannon followed Brigitte passively. She did not care about the next terrifying surprise now, as long as she could sleep.

* * *

June stood, while the nurse, Cassie, gave her the small plastic cup with medications. Mandy stood next to Cassie as June, careful to keep her arms positioned right, brought the pill cup to her mouth and reached for the water cup with her left hand, the one with the wounded wrist. She missed, hardly able to even hold the cup. Cassie had to put it in her hand and steady it. June then brought the water to her dry mouth and drank it in one swallow. Mandy marked her clipboard; she and Cassie exchanged glances and a nod and headed for the door.

Cassie said, "Have a good morning, June,"

"Any chance I'm out of here soon?" asked June, her voice weak and tired.

"I'll let you know," said Cassie.

They left. June sat down carefully, pulled the covers up to her neck and began to lie down. Ginger, who had been in the room all through their visit, glared at her. "You're just going to stay in here and take pills now. Some purpose! You stupid, shitty, faithless bitch, why did I ever persuade Brigitte to trust you?"

With annoyance June brought her hand out from under the covers and revealed the pills to Ginger, and then closed it quickly, drawing it back, in case the camera might pick them up, even though June doubted that strongly.

"What the fuck . . . ? How did you . . . ? That's incredible!" Ginger smiled.

June had been glad to be able to execute that trick while drugged off her ass. Mandy might have been in position to see it, but the distraction worked on her, too. _Hey, I even fooled the fucking ghost!_

With nothing else to do now but wait and sleep the drugs off, June closed her eyes and she let herself drift back to sleep. IS-OB allowed you no sense of time. She thought if they were giving her more pills, it had to be early morning, between five and seven, but otherwise she had no way to judge time.

Her sleep had begun to go into a nightmare, when Cassie's voice mercifully interrupted. "June, the doctor says you're out."

She opened her eyes having no idea how long she slept. Ginger was gone and Cassie stood in the room with the door open. June grunted and got to her feet. _Man, that was fast for IS-OB._

As they exited the room, June asked, "What time is it?"

"It's a little after nine," said Cassie, "and you can still catch breakfast."

"Great, breakfast, I'm so . . . there now!" She felt so hungry. The drugs increased hunger, and days of sacrificing her meals to Brigitte had caught up to her. Remembering to feign being drugged, she let Cassie walk her to the lounge. Going in, June noticed how blurred everything looked without her glasses. She would have to put her contacts in for the first time in a month.

"I think I can walk now," said June.

"You're so independent," said Cassie.

June now could only wait for Dr. Gadepalli to make his move. She felt encouragement in that he did let her out of IS-OB, seemingly in record time.

The medical tech inside the lounge walked her to the table and then brought her a tray. June ensconced herself only in her food for a while. As she began to get full, she overheard the weather report on television warning of the blizzard about to hit the area. She looked out the window, seeing no snow yet, but she could hear the wind whistling its way in through the minutest cracks in the windows. Sixty kilometer gusts, they say, and it was supposed to get much worse.

Helen sat down next to her. "Good morning sweetie cakes."

June sighed wearily without looking. "Good morning Helen."

"Heard you made an attempt yesterday. They say you used your watch crystal?" Helen asked, laughing.

"Yes, but it didn't work. I had to use my glass lens," said June, showing the bandage on her wrist.

"Oh, so sorry! Wha' the fuck did the Gadfly tell you that made you do that?"

June could not believe that nickname had spread so quickly. "I'd rather not talk about it, Hels," she said.

"That bad? Oh, I'm sorry teddy-bears," June did not answer, but went back to eating. Helen continued, "but man, they let you out fast."

"I think they're trusting their drugs to keep me out of trouble."

Helen had a hardy laugh at that. "And we both know how well that always works out. Hey, you won't believe this, Pee Wee. Did you hear that Shannon and Brigitte left together with Will last night?"

June almost shouted at Helen over being called Pee Wee. She hated it. They called her exactly that in school.

"No!" said June, with dripping sarcasm masked as drowsy surprise. _Really? Did you hear that Will's dead?_

"Can't believe the slut left me in the lurch like this," said Helen, and for once, she did not giggle.

Her disenchanted tone made June wonder if they were involved. Where Helen was bisexual, Shannon, though compulsively promiscuous, seemed totally straight.

"I didn't think you two were . . ."

"No, I only wished. I wanted to help her break her man-habit," said Helen, snickering again.

That destroyed what little respect June had for Helen. June said, "You sound like an . . . ignorant guy talking about changing lesbians by having sex with them."

"Wha . . . ? No, it was a joke. You don't think she had a man habit- like, really bad?"

"I don't think sex with you would have helped, and it would've probably hurt." said June.

"I wasn't talking about making out with her," said Helen, as she laughed, but the laughter had an indignity in it.

"You weren't?" asked June, she added quickly, "I'm not talking about you personally, just Shannon having sex with women, too."

"No. I just wanted to do something to make the girl better."

_Did that something involved one or more vaginas?_ "I'm sorry, then, Hels," said June, in her best, sweetest, mollifying tone. "I'm a little too fucked up with their drugs to hear you right."

With too much on her mind, and burdened with having to act drugged up, June did not want to get into an argument with Helen. She knew that whether Shannon threw herself at guys or girls, Shannon would still be harming herself, but the girl had problems now that made this moot.

"Okay, here's the thing, honey-babe" said Helen, leaning in, as June continued to eat. "She was supposed to escape with me and two guys tonight, but she left me in the lurch. Do you want to go with me?"

"What?"

"He says he knows a way into the old wings on the boys' side, and he could get out through there, and all he needs is the key. I have the keys that Phil dropped when Brigitte beat him. He has a buddy who will pick us up in the parking lot tonight. I don't think they'll do it unless, you know, another girl besides me comes along, too."

"Oh . . . I'm the incentive," said June, raising the cup of coffee to her mouth to hide her restrained laughter. _You want me to be a replacement for Shannon? A substitute slut off the bench?_ June imagined how quickly the getaway driver must have jumped at the chance when his friend told him about Shannon.

"No!" said Helen. "Boy tells me the buddy will be all stocked for partying, and I don't think he'll be coming alone either. Look, if you're at the point of slashing your wrist, honey-lumps, it's just the night out that you need."

_How many of my holes are you pimping?_ June already had thought of a dozen things that could go wrong with this plan, and nine of them were that Brigitte was in the abandoned wings and would probably be hungry again tonight, unless something went right today. To June, however, it was an opportunity.

"It sounds wicked. Yes, I'll go with you, darling," said June, smiling sweetly, and with exaggerated affection that disarmed Helen, "but on one condition."

"What?" asked Helen.

"While I'm down the hall showering, unlock the door to Brigitte's room."

* * *

June dried herself off and put her on her robe, tying it with difficulty due to her bad hand. Besides needing Brigitte's door opened, June had needed a contingency plan for getting into the closed wings, just in case she read the doctor wrong, and Helen's escape plan provided that. This plan also provided her and Brigitte with the opportunity for a getaway car.

Though officially on suicide watch, June noticed that the staff had not been watching her so closely; they seemed preoccupied by other things today. She picked up her wet towels and her nightgowns and exited the room.

Outside in the hall, she took her towels to the hamper, and as she grabbed more from the linen cart, she looked around. The coast was clear. She ducked into Brigitte's room . . .

. . . and immediately regretted it. It stunk horribly in here. As June went to the cabinet, her slippers stuck to the floor, and she had to use care not to lose them and end up barefoot on whatever the gunk was. She opened the cabinet, took out Brigitte's knapsack, which was open and apparently empty. Putting it on the bed, ignoring the blood spots on the sheet, she found the side compartment Ginger had described, felt around within it, and took out a long, sturdy, cardboard jewel box.

June put the knapsack back, and wrapped the box in the towels, leaving quickly. Out in the hallway, she felt relieved to be away from the stench, and more so that nobody saw her emerge so hastily from Brigitte's room. She went immediately to her own room. Oh her way, Helen winked at her. She smiled back.

June made sure to keep of the ruse of looking drugged until she got into her own room. Last night's dose had almost totally worn off now. She took the slippers off in disgust and slung them into the bathroom. Going to her bed, she took out the box. The top and bottom fit together tight. Her bad left hand giving her trouble, she worked them apart impatiently, anxious to see the things inside.

Finally she succeeded and opened it. Two bird-skull necklaces lay on the foam padding inside. June gazed at them, and immediately began to feel the same sensory confusion and syntheses she had first felt looking at Brigitte. She put the box on the bed and backed up a step. Unlike with Brigitte, it felt dangerous for her to simply look at these; a few seconds told her she might lose herself in a trance. She glanced away, then looked back at them again. As she gazed at them, she saw a glow spread across the skulls' surfaces, like a luminescent paint. Touching one lightly, she felt power flash right into her spine, and the glow went away, but began to recharge immediately. She caught her breath, now knowing the dangerous awe of standing in a room with something like plutonium.

_Somebody sold these to children? Fucking criminal!_

Already feeling dizzy and chilled, she did not notice Ginger had appeared and came up behind her. "June! I see you got them."

June jumped and gasped "Fuck Ginger! You scared me!"

"Wick-ed, I finally scared somebody!" She smiled with those fangs and looked at the necklaces. "Like I said, mine's yours if you want it."

"Want it? I don't even want to touch these things!" June closed the box quickly and picked it up. "Ginger, these aren't toys you give to children. These are talismans with real power."

Ginger paused, surprised. "Fuck! Really? Real magic?"

June nodded. "Yes, and you and Brigitte were playing with them, pretending you were witches.

I . . . won't yet go as far to say yet that maybe these brought the Beast into Bailey Downs, but . . . " June paused.

"Yes . . . but . . . ?"

"But I wouldn't be surprised if they were related. You said that after hiding these for years, you took these out and started wearing them, and a few months later you first heard about the dog attacks?"

"Yes," said Ginger, her eyes looking wide enough to be transparent.

"Uncanny," said June, her voice flat,"not fucking evidence of anything, but uncanny." June could not imagine that anyone would give these to the Fitzgerald sisters to create the Bailey Downs Incident. For one, it would have required them to know too much about what would happen seven years in advance. She found it likelier that they had some purpose or plan that went wrong.

"We swore our oath with them, too," said Ginger. "We held them in our hands and smeared blood on them."

"Yes, I remember you told me, and I think that's most likely why you're still on earth with Brigitte now."

"Jesus fucking Christ," said Ginger, she turned away and paced, awed that her childhood games with her sister could have had such an accidental effect.

June laughed nervously and said, "I'd be careful whose name you invoke around these . . . and how." She quickly put the box into her drawer under her clothes. "I don't know anything about magic yet, but I can see power, and those have a lot it."

Somebody knocked on the door.

"Ye-es!" called June.

The curtain went up to show Cassie, who then opened the door.

"What is it?" demanded June, irritably. Ginger had not heard the short tone previously from June.

"Dr. Gadepalli wants to see you, June."

_At last!_ "I have to dress, and tell him first I want a cigarette, _before smoke break_," she answered curtly.

Ginger could not hide her astonishment at June's demand.

She felt even more awe shortly when Dr. Gadepalli granted it!

* * *

"You are the only one who ever talked to her," said Dr. Gadepalli. "Where is she?"

"How would I know?" said June with Ginger sitting next to her. They sat in the doctor's office across the desk from him. For once he did not hold a pen, did not take notes, and did he keep his face blank. He looked angry and worried.

"You either coordinated this or planned it. Were you supposed to go, too?" he asked.

"You're fucking ignorant!" said Ginger.

June laughed at him. "Planned? I don't know what you're talking about," said June. "If you ask me, Will and Shannon were a coincidence."

"A coincidence?" said Dr. Gadepalli. "Why is it that none of them packed? They did not even take their coats, in this weather! They must be somewhere in the disused sections. How did they get into them? And also tell me . . . what are these?" He took a plastic prescription jar out of his desk and spilled the contents. They looked like human teeth mixed with dust. "Brigitte's room was littered with them."

Curious but cautious, June picked one up. It crumbled between her thumb and forefinger.

"No they're not real," he said.

"Yes they are," said Ginger. "She lost all her teeth and got new, bigger ones. Happened to me gradually. It happened to her all at once."

_Oh, poor Brigitte! That must have been painful, _thought June.

"What message was she sending me with these?" he asked.

"Message?" June scoffed. "They really didn't tell you anything at all about her, did they? A need to know basis? You were just keeping her with a whole bunch of helpless patients, so you don't need to know? It must be a whole fucking lot of money they paid you."

"I could see that you're evading your medications. June, that is a delusion . . ." he said.

She stood up. "Bullshit! Don't talk to me like I'm your patient anymore. If I'm delusional, why are you coming to a fucking crazy girl instead of going to the fucking police for help? You should be glad I'm not fucked up on your drugs now. I don't know exactly what you're hiding, doctor, but you and your whole staff have been acting like there's something to hide since she got here."

"Maybe I could clear it up for you, then? I could tell you something, if you tell me what is important to know about her?"

This surprised June. He really seemed to want to know, but she felt suspicious. She made a sidewise glance at Ginger. "Sorry, I have her confidence. I'm sure you still understand about confidence, doctor? And . . . why is any of this important now anyway? She's gone. What do you want from me?"

The doctor answered exactly the way she expected.

"I want her and the others back, as soon as possible."

June had her opportunity now. She sat back down and leaned back. "Well, I don't know about Shannon or Will, but I know where she is."

"Is she still in the building?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Will you take me to her?"

Ginger snorted derisively, apparently sharing June's thought. They both knew Brigitte would kill him on sight, and probably also would kill June for bringing him.

"No, but I can go in there alone and maybe bring her back to you," said June. She swallowed unexpectedly after she said it, but she hid her shakiness. She did not like the thought of following a ghost through a creepy, old building to find a werewolf. _How do I fit into that picture?_

"Alone? That's out of the question," he said.

"She won't respond well to you being there, believe me. She sees you as her jailer. I can't think why. If you're there, she's not going to trust me. I have to go alone, and I need something to gain her trust, or there's no way she'll come out with me."

"And what would that something be?" asked the doctor.

"I need her monkshood," she said.

"No!"

"And I need at least two doses, in syringes," she said.

"No! Monkshood is dangerous. It almost killed her."

"Oh, _now_ you're all concerned about your Hippocratic Oath?" She leaned forward, and said slowly, "Unless I have it, I'm not going in to get her."

* * *

The doctor laid two syringes in front of her filled with a clear, colorless liquid.

"Do you know how to give shots?" he said.

"Yes," said June, stretching a point. She had seen it done enough. She picked up one of the syringes, gazing at it.

"June," said Ginger. "Gadfly's pulling one over on you. It isn't monkshood; monkshood's purple."

Seething, June said, "Except I'm not shooting Brigitte with this . . . because monkshood's purple." June took the cover off the needle, pressed the plunger to put a drop out on her forefinger, she made a show of smelling it. "Smells wrong, too!"

June slapped the syringe down on the desk, stood up and leaned over the desk at the doctor, shouting, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO PULL? Do you expect her to trust me when I say it's monkshood when it doesn't look anything like it?"

He looked surprised. "How do you know how it looks or smells?" he asked.

June had turned red with rage, as it sank in that his trickery might have gotten her killed. "Because Brigitte told me, dumbshit. Even if I didn't know, she knows." She held up the syringe again. "What shit were you tricking me into giving her? A roofie cocktail? What the fuck is this shit?" She flung it across the room.

Though the doctor did not answer, June knew that might have been it. If he simply tranquilized Brigitte, he had to find a way to bring her back. A roofie injection would have solved that problem, or made retrieval much easier, but that would not have worked unless the doctor had something else up his sleeve. Maybe following her? June now knew the doctor was desperate, and she would need to stay on the alert for more deceit.

"So, what was your plan, doctor? Were you coming after me? Don't. I'll let you in on the big thing they didn't tell you about her: she's fucking extremely dangerous. If you go down there, or if any of your staff goes in there, she _will_ kill you. She's able to. I know this. I saw what happened to Violet."

That did get Dr. Gadepalli's attention. June went on, "And if she gets the idea that I'm in cahoots with you, there's a good chance she'll kill me. Fuck, I hope you're being paid well to be ignorant. What with the lawsuits and possibly a police investigations now for you. I'll be happy to see you in a whole lot of trouble over this."

Dr. Gadepalli had no concern that June could expose him. _Nobody believes a crazy woman, _he thought, but he had enough pride that June's criticism stung him. With his face impassive again, he finally said. "In case it makes a difference to you, Miss Collier, they threatened me and my family if I wouldn't help them and offered me a lot money if I would."

"Oh, shittin' Gods!" said Ginger, standing up with surprise.

June almost pulled a muscle trying not to show her surprise. _The old carrot and stick!_ What began last night with her simply taunting the doctor for information became one-hundred percent confirmed. "I see. My regards, doctor, but it changes nothing about what needs to be done now. I want her monkshood. Now. Believe me, it's our only chance of getting her out of there, and I'll do nothing for you without it."

"All right," the doctor said, as he reached down low in his desk drawer. "You are fortunate. I was going to destroy them today." He pulled out three small vials with purple liquid and put them on the desk. June immediately grabbed them.

"And you're fucking fortunate your patient is crazy. Now I want two empty syringes," she said, "and I'll prepare them myself this time, thank you."


	18. Shattered Pact

**Chapter 18:  
**

SHATTERED PACT

"This is where she killed that guy," Ginger said. "She surprised him, broke his neck and split open his throat. It was fucking awesome. Like, wall-worthy. You should've seen it."

June, who had heard of the sisters' walls-of-shame and fame, could hear the creepy pride in Ginger's voice. "No, I shouldn't have."

She could see Ginger more clearly than anything else in here in this room. Though Ginger did not exactly shine or glow, she still had no shadows on her. Her appearance did not depend on light.

"Look, he was getting some from a patient. That breaks that one oath, doesn't it? You look at death differently when you're dead," said Ginger.

June scoffed at this. "Yeah, from what you tell me, it sucks. Why did you save Shannon, then?"

"Because Brigitte was really going to make her suffer first."

It seemed Ginger still cared whether somebody lived or died. Most of all, she cared if Brigitte did. For some reason unclear to June, Ginger had also cared that Shannon did.

In the flashlight beam, she saw the blood from Will's murder. A large puddle of water obscured it and showed Brigitte's strangely civilized attempt to hide her crime, which now caused June to wonder about Brigitte's real guilt in the matter. Until now, June thought Brigitte acted violently, despite her will, from autonomic urges, but here Brigitte had stalked her prey willfully, and covered it up. Clearly, Brigitte's personality had fundamentally changed. June would try to be prepared for it.

She saw solid things floating in the puddle that glistened in the flashlight beam. She did not want to know what these were. Then she saw something reflected in the pool. _Reflected? _A face shimmered in the black water, looking up at her, Will's face, looking first surprised, then fearful and angry. She gazed at him curiously, and realized he could see her, too. He lifted his middle finger toward Ginger.

"June?" said Ginger.

June started and looked away. "Fuck! You aren't the only spirit here, Ginger. He heard you, and _he_ does not like you. Let's get out of here," said June.

Together they went through the entrance that Brigitte had opened to the evacuated wings. June could see her breath. She quickly overcame her fear of the dark. It reminded her of when her father took her caving, where she followed Angie down the darkest tunnel, got lost, and got swarmed with bats. Rabid bats seemed absolutely cute to June compared to what she faced in here.

"Which way?" June asked.

"That way," Ginger pointed up and into the wall.

"Let's find the steps then," said June. She moved a lamp aside and drew an arrow on the wall with a marker she brought. The arrow pointed back opposite the way they were going. As much as she doubted it would be necessary, she had to plan for contingencies.

Her flashlight beam showed junk cluttering the hallway as far as she could see. While June struggled and had to sometimes climb through it, Ginger had no trouble, her body bent and stretched around it all. Though she did not seem to like passing through anything, she had already demonstrated that she could. Some of the refuse blocking the hall surprised June, such as a safe, and a large wooden sculpture of a cat. She would guess that someone could mine these halls for antiques. If they could deal with the dust, mildew . . . and rats. There were no windows, and so much dust covered everything that this place might as well be an actual cave.

She dressed in her winter clothes. The doctor allowed her to bring her backpack. The things she carried in it included as much food as she could raid from the kitchen and lounge, and the bird-skull necklaces. The doctor had originally insisted that June wait until the patients were having dinner to go. She nixed this. They compromised and waited until lunch. With his help, she managed to sneak through the door without being seen by staff.

"Hey, that was awesome what you pulled in Gadfly's office. How did you do that?" asked Ginger.

"I was channeling my dead inner bitch, and I never told you: I used to be a double-agent."

"What?" said Ginger.

"But not really; none of it was real. It just felt real, but it still helped."

They finally came to a stairway, in an alcove. June marked an arrow on the wall next to it. As she began to go up the first step, Ginger said, "Wait. What's the plan?"

"You distract her while I hit her with the shot," said June.

"I can't distract her," said Ginger looking exasperated.

"Well, Ginger, we can't do it the other way. You can't give her the shot."

"You don't understand. She's going to know you're there as soon as you're on the floor. She's going to hear you move. She'll smell you. She can fucking hear your heartbeat across the fucking room."

"Then we'll have to make like hockey players and change our plans five times going down ice. We'll start by you distracting her."

Ginger did not look confident as they began to go up the wooden stairs to the ground floor. The stairs did not make a sound beneath June's feet, but to her annoyance, she began to hear the out-of-tune music in her head again. This time, she heard a muted trombone. That, and she heard indiscernible whispers. She had no medication today. With the stress, she did not know how fast her symptoms would rebound.

"I think I better warn you: she doesn't look human anymore," said Ginger.

"I knew that when Gadfly showed me the teeth," whispered June.

"No, I mean, the change hasn't done her good. At least I was pretty," said Ginger.

June stopped, looked at Ginger, who could not see herself in a mirror, who now sported fangs, and claws, white hair, and red folds around beastly eyes. June tried not to laugh, and failed.

"I went to a Halloween party on the full moon and guys were hitting on me. I don't think they'd hit on Brigitte."

"I sense some sibling rivalry here."

"Just don't lose your shit when you see her."

Halfway up the steps, Ginger stopped and stood, as though she had forgotten something important.

June finally looked back. Ginger looked scared.

"Ginger?" said June.

"Oh, no!"

"What is it?"

"Jason." said Ginger, looking stricken. "He's found her. He's here."

"Here?" said June, hoping "here" wasn't too close.

"Yes! Right outside."

* * *

Brigitte sensed Jason's presence with the same speed that Ginger had. She snarled with the first smell of him on the draft coming through the boarded-up windows in the room where she was sleeping. She threw a bed frame against the wall in fury.

"I'M NOT YOUR WHORE!" she cried.

Jason repulsed her. His leering desires, and the entire idea of him dog-humping her made her seethe. She hated him, hated the way he stalked her these years, killing every guy around her, smugly anticipating her change like a buzzard waiting for a wounded jackal to die. "No, the answer is still no, Jason! And it will be NO, FOREVER!"

She thought of Sam, her heart still broken. She then thought of Roy, how she could take comfort with him. Roy would be an escape from her loss of Sam, and an escape from her anticipation of Jason.

"Brigitte," said Sam, she turned with a growl. He stood there looking solid and alive again. Was she dreaming now? She remembered waking up. "You're going to desire Jason, soon, because you're going to change."

"Noo-ooo," she yelled, and began to cry. "No, I'll always love you! I will always have desire for you."

"No, Brigitte. It's part of the changes. Unless you could stop them, Jason will be your mate. You smell and hear June coming already. Let her give you the monkshood or your future will be with Jason."

Monkshood. Brigitte remembered how sick it made her. The nausea, the numbness in her limbs, the racing heart that felt like it would explode, the biting of her lips and tongue, and worse, the suffocation. Then afterward, she would feel so feeble, weak, and helpless again, and guilty. She had gone through too many ordeals and felt weary; yet, avoiding the obscenity of sex with Jason, or even delaying it, would be worth it.

"I'll do it, but please, be there with me. I don't know, I can't think straight and I'm too angry," said Brigitte.

He shook his head. "Brigitte, I have no choice." She felt her hopes die. "I'm lucky to have just a few seconds here with you."

"I'm no longer in control, if you're not there with me, I don't think I can make my mind do it."

"Ginger will be with you," said Sam.

"Ginger?" Brigitte cried in anger. "She killed you!"

"Brigitte, she wasn't . . ."

"Yes, she was! She spoke to me! I heard her!"

"Brigitte, you must let that go . . ."

"Let that fucking go?" Brigitte growled.

"I'm sorry. I'm too weak. I'm fading. Let it go," said Sam. He dissolved away.

"Sam, please don't go. . . Fuck!" exclaimed Brigitte, and kicked debris into the wall. She smashed her fist through a board nailed over the window, and the windowpane shattered. She brought her arm out bleeding, but ignored it, knowing it would heal in minutes.

She could smell June very clearly now. Brigitte tried to think past all the rage, tried to get her mind to where she could somehow forgive Ginger, trust her and feel calmed by her friendship again. She thought she could do it . . . long enough.

Then she heard and smelled something else that re-doubled her fury and made any conciliatory emotions impossible for her.

* * *

"She's moving!" said Ginger, "really fast."

They were in a hallway. There were windows along the wall, unlike most areas, none of these were boarded. The wind mashed against them and forced its way in with a series of flute-like whistles against the overall howls. It played badly with the flat music in June's head where a violin had joined the trombone. She had her backpack off and put the bird skull necklaces on, putting the box back in the pack with her gloves.

"I thought you didn't want to touch those," said Ginger, as June put the skulls under her scarf and coat.

"I think we might need some good luck charms," said June, with irony. "Where is she, now?"

Ginger pointed into the wall. Her hand kept moving back.

June said, "Oh, fuck! She's trying to flank us." She turned to the back and called out, "BRIGITTE! We know that you know we're here. Come out and talk!"

June finished with her scarf and walked back up the hallway from which they came, when Ginger, behind her, called, "She stopped!"

Right as Ginger said that, June heard a yelp of a male voice, and another cracking sound that she had become only too familiar with. Approaching more slowly, she heard cries, snarling and clothes being torn.

She rounded the corner. Ahead, the hall opened up into an empty space like a waiting or meeting area. Three un-boarded windows allowed her to see. She saw a large animal on top of a man. He lay helpless underneath as it clawed, snarled and punched him. June then recognized the man: Dr. Gadepalli. The animal immediately looked up at her, and she felt her knees weaken. Its eyes were brown-orange and wild with a rabid fury. Ginger's warnings did not do it justice at all, or maybe she should have listened. It stood up, and only now could June see Brigitte within its furry, maned features.

Everything about Brigitte's appearance disturbed June. Naked, anatomically incorrect, and standing twenty feet away, Brigitte blithely chewed on something, just the way a teenager would chew on bubblegum.

The doctor's thumb was missing, while the stump bled on his coat. He looked at June stunned, gasping and fighting shock. He held his hand in front of his face in disbelief.

Brigitte spit the chewed-up thumb out; it made a "thunk" against a windowpane, and left a watery blood spot.

"Hi, June!" The friendly voice sounded mostly like Brigitte's.

"Brig-itte . . ." June managed between breaths. She stopped her bowels from loosening.

Brigitte giggled suddenly. "I'm not laughing at you. I have a feeling of deja-vu. Except in it, I was standing where you are, and it was a school hallway, and . . . I never knew how funny I looked."

Suddenly, without looking Brigitte stomped on the doctor's other hand. It cracked, he cried out. She bent down and picked up the object he had been reaching for: an automatic pistol. She held it up.

"Look! He was following you with this!"

_Doctor, how could you be so fucking dumb?_ June thought.

"No. Don't hurt him anymore!" she begged.

"He was going to use this on one of us, June!" Brigitte could not hold the gun correctly with her hands, but she aimed it anyway. She kicked the doctor in the leg, he screamed. She shouted to him, "Which one of us was this for, doctor?"

"I wouldn't hurt either of you . . ." he cried. For the first time, June could see his leg was at an odd angle; Brigitte had previously broken it.

Brigitte yelled, "LIAR!" She took aim at him and fired, missing. The bullet ricocheted off the floor. "WHO?" She fired again, and missed, again it ricocheted, hitting a windowpane. The roaring wind outside immediately swept the shattered glass inward and sent dust and debris swirling around the room.

"Brigitte, stop!" shouted June.

"WHO?" She fired again, and again missed the doctor. She grimaced in pain and frustration. "Fuck this noisy piece of shit! I'll tear you a new one myself!" She threw the gun backward in disgust through another windowpane. More cold wind howled in. She reached down and picked him up with one arm, raising him above her. "I'll tear you a whole lot of new ones!" She flourished the claws of her other hand at him, enjoying the terror on his face.

June had already reached into her pocket for the syringe,and removed the needle-cover. Her ears rang from the sound of the shots. She had been moving slowly, expecting that the gunshots must have stunned Brigitte's hearing, too. Seeing Brigitte flourishing her claws made her hurry, but she was still too far away.

"Brigitte! Stop! Let him go!" it was Ginger from the other end of the hall, she walked up, seeming to June to move too quickly for her gait. _At last! _June slowed again to move more quietly.

"Ginger . . . " said Brigitte, over the wind. She turned and said to the doctor, "We'll talk later," and slammed his head against the wall, "Oops! If you wake up." She let his limp body drop.

Now directly behind her, June aimed the needle toward the Brigitte's throat. Brigitte whirled and smacked it out of June's fingers, knocking it right through Ginger, startling her.

That had only been a decoy, which June could not have pressed anyway due to her left wrist. The needle meant to score, in June's good hand, plunged into Brigitte's thigh . . .

Or would have, except Brigitte caught June's wrist and squeezed. June cried out as her hand went numb and her bones felt strained to the breaking point. _Not fair . . . how did she see . . . move that quick?_

Brigitte looked from June to the needle and back, and said casually, "Oh, I'm taking monkshood. Uhhh, do I know this?"

June's feet left the floor as Brigitte threw her one handed; she hit the wall hard with her shoulders, neck and head, landing on her belly, stunned and seeing stars. Brigitte stalked up to her.

"Don't . . ." said Ginger.

Ignoring Ginger, Brigitte turned June over and yelled to her, "Did you fucking ask me?"

"Would you have said 'yes?'" June gasped.

Brigitte sneered. "Well, neither of us will ever know now, will we?" She kicked June in the hip. "Idiot."

"Brigitte, please don't hurt her anymore," said Ginger.

"Fuck! That's all anybody ever says to me now! Stop hurting him, stop hurting her . . . you're all so fucking boring!"

"All she has ever done is try to help you," said Ginger.

"Yes," said Brigitte, "And she can't help it that she's so fucking USELESS," Brigitte picked June up to her feet and held her by the shoulders. "I mean, look at her, so short, delicate and fucking crazy, thinking she has a fucking purpose with this!" She said to June, "I feel sorry for you." The scarf had fallen away, Brigitte put a paw almost gently on June's throat; "Look! Such a tiny neck. You _are_ really dainty."

June swallowed. Brigitte's scent hit her again, as it did the last time they stood this close. She began to feel the same unwilling, nauseating attraction to her.

"No, you don't want to hurt her anymore," said Ginger.

"Hurt, June? Never!" Brigitte said. She turned back to June, "Piss me off again, though, and . . . I might kill you by accident, and it'll be tough shit."

Brigitte let go of June and tried to swipe through Ginger, but missed. June, still too stunned and hurt to stand, sank back into a sitting position against the wall. The needle lay on the floor in sight, but both of her wrists throbbed, and she did not dare pick it up unless Brigitte was well distracted.

Ginger now stood ten feet away. "You can't shoo me away anymore, Brigitte. I'm alert to it and I know I'm faster than you are now. Stop hurting others when you're really pissed at me. There are words between us you haven't said, what are they?"

Brigitte had turned completely toward Ginger, and laughed, choking. June noticed Brigitte's left hand shook, and she flicked it, like she had hit her funny-bone. "You really think we could do some talk therapy now? Look at me now, Ginger. You've been through this. You think you could talk it out between us and untwist my fucked up, evil mind? What is there left to talk about now? Haven't I killed you once? Leave me alone!"

Ginger stood stunned. "You killed. . . ? No, wait, that's not what happened . . ."

Brigitte continued to flick and shake her left hand. "Yes, that's exactly what happened; I stabbed you, and even if you really don't remember, you know it!"

"You said . . ."

"And I lied to you to you, because I didn't owe you the truth after what you did to me," yelled Brigitte.

June heard Brigitte's tone, and felt a bewildering dread. Without knowing it, she opened her coat and now held the two bird skulls together in her hand. She had already picked up the syringe, put the needle cover back, and put it in her pocket. The two sisters circled each other in the sunlight and wind coming through the windows.

"Do you want to know why I killed you?" asked Brigitte.

"No . . . I don't . . . Bee . . ." Ginger broke down in tears.

Brigitte hollered over the wind with something between a scream and a howl, "Because you were trying to kill ME you BITCH! You made me eat shit when I was right. You tried to FUCK Sam, you killed him, you fucking made me drink his blood, because YOU had some perverted plan for the three of us packing together! After I infected myself to try persuade you to save your own hopeless, worthless ass! You ungrateful bitch! Body and mind, I'm like this because of you. This is what you did to me. And now your bone-buddy Jason is waiting out there to rape what's left of my miserable ass after tomorrow. I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

The skulls in June's hands suddenly felt hot. June could see something was wrong with Ginger's appearance, shadows seemed to crawl through her and over her now.

"Brigitte please!" said Ginger, who fell on her knees begging, weeping, "I'm sorry. I should have run away the night I killed Norman. I . . . was going to, but I stayed and tried to still be human, only because of you and our oath."

Brigitte bore down on Ginger, who slid back closer and closer to June. Brigitte screamed now with a scorn that sounded like every word was clawed out of her very soul. "That fucking worthless OATH. The oath was always about you! I hate the fucking day we ever made it! YOU broke it when you tried to kill me! You bitch, I hate you! I wish you were never born!

"We're over Ginger! Go back to whatever hell you crawled out of. OUR OATH IS VOID!"

Ginger screamed in a voice louder than humanly possible. Her body recoiled, lost its shape and twisted. She bifurcated and fractured into something as shapeless as a campfire; her face, the only thing recognizable about it, turned animal, as the scream turned into a howl, before her form shattered with a clap that broke windowpanes, went down the hallway and echoed. The chaotic pieces of her form blackened as they scattered in the swirling wind, smaller and smaller into oblivion.

Renouncing the oath, Brigitte had broken the spell that had kept Ginger on earth. June had been right; the sisters accidentally cast it when they swore their oath. Now the bird skulls in June's hand cooled.

Brigitte now stood facing June in the wind and snow, panting and dazed, tears dripping from her eyes and foam from her jaws. June sobbed in mourning for her friend.

The first heavy snow of the blizzard had just begun to blow in through the shattered windows.


	19. Defilement

**Chapter 19**

DEFILEMENT

Brigitte stood disbelieving, then recovered. She shook the foam from her mouth like animal, and then wiped the rest with her hand, like a human.

"She's gone! Really gone?" she said bristling, or maybe grinning. "Was it always that easy?"

"That didn't look easy to me," June sobbed, the blowing wind drowning out her voice. She neither knew nor cared if Brigitte heard her. Only now she realized how deeply attached she had become to Ginger. June had presumed Ginger to be invulnerable; how shockingly wrong she had been.

She noticed her tears dripped on the bird skulls. Realizing how powerful the necklaces had to be, she hastily put them back in her coat and zipped it up. Brigitte came up to her and crouched down, her knees positioned to the side of her ribs, unlike a human. Her eyes looked malicious, her facial expression inhuman and unreadable. As far as June knew, Brigitte would kill her now. Like a wolf, she sniffed June, who shook and looked back wide-eyed. At least in this wind Brigitte's scent had less effect on her. Also, for some reason, she did not experience as much of the sensory syntheses and confusion with Brigitte now.

"As always, you're afraid of me, June," said Brigitte with a human laugh. "So, why the fuck did you try to force monkshood on me?"

"Sorry, I should have asked. Will you take it?"

"No," Brigitte answered.

_That's why._ "Brigitte, please . . . "

"I'm through with medicine. This isn't something you try to cure. This is nature taking its course. This is something that should happen."

"That's not what you said just a couple minutes ago."

"And there's one thing this shit teaches you and that's things change."

June wanted to ask if her attitude about bestiality with Jason had also changed but knew she would not survive the answer.

Brigitte stood and picked her up.

* * *

They had just reached the bottom of the stairs. Brigitte led June by the wrist, carrying her backpack in her other hand-paw.

"What about the doctor?" asked June.

Brigitte laughed and said, "You're switching subjects."

"But we weren't talking."

"You have one serious flaw, June."

"I'm crazy?" _My boobs are far too big? I'm short . . . _

"No, you have another flaw, too. You keep getting your ass kicked. Nobody as brave as you should have a body like yours."

June thought, _What does this have to do with an . . . . oh no! _"No, thanks. You wouldn't be helping me."

"You don't have to take bullies elbowing you in the ear anymore."

June spoke fast. "No, the virus is effecting your thinking, it's just using you to get another host. Remember, Ginger went through this stage, too? You'll give me less than a month of being stronger, suffering like you did. Please, Brigitte, nobody wants to go through what you have."

"I just had the wrong attitude. It'll be easy if you don't fight it."

"But it's still less than a month!"

"Yes, a month of being stronger than you've ever been before, and then you could be with me."

"Oh, so that's it? You've gotten rid of Ginger and now you don't want to be alone?" June talked faster and faster. "But I think the virus is telling you that, too. As you say, things change. You're going to think totally different tomorrow night. You might not want me, and you'll have Jason . . ."

A paw suddenly clamped on June's throat, silencing her.

"No I won't!" said Brigitte. "We'll get away from Jason, somehow."

_WE will? _Brigitte loosened her grip. June just nodded.

"Yes, we will," said June, her voice recovering.

"And I don't think he'll hurt you anyway if you've already got it. I think it could protect you from him . . . and me."

"Ummm . . . no!" June's voice squeaked with desperation.

"You'll get all the strength and speed I have, and your senses will be . . ."

"No please!" June begged. "The whole idea makes no sense. Brigitte, I know part of you is still there; please try to listen to what you're saying. It's a disease, not a blessing. It's manipulating your loneliness and making you feel like you're being generous, just the way it manipulated your anger toward Ginger."

"Quit psychoanalyzing me. I'm offering you a gift."

_"I'd rather die than be what you are!"_ June cried.

Brigitte completely broke down laughing to June's flustered amazement. For a half minute at least, she continued, seemingly helpless, with tears squeezing out from her closed eyes. Then, she put her face into her hands, sank to the steps, and continued for at least another minute. She dug her claws into her face.

June gaped and wondered, _Did I kill her? _

She tried to dash away, but before she finished a stride, Brigitte caught her by the wrist. June watched while Brigitte laughed for at least a half minute more before finally recovering herself. She stood up with the bleeding claw marks all over her face.

"June," said Brigitte, tears still in her eyes. "I said the exact, _exact_ thing that you did, same words, same exact tone. Now look at me. Things change."

Snarling Brigitte yanked June's left arm, tore the coat sleeve, and with a growl chomped into her forearm.

"Noooo!" June screamed in severe pain, and screamed repeatedly. Brigitte did not let go. While she held on, she snarled, and yanked on June's arm. June hit her, but Brigitte's skull was so dense now that the punches had as much effect as ping-pong balls. Brigitte finally let go and licked the wound with a smooth tongue like a dog's, savoring the blood.

"Nooo," June cried, and broke down sobbing as she sank to her knees. "You sick bitch! I said no-o-o-o! Ginger gave you a choice. Where was mine? You've . . . killed me!" She wailed hysterically. Brigitte stopped licking the blood and let go of June's wrist. Utterly broken, June sank flat down to the floor, prostrate and weeping. Within her head, three musical tunes tangled themselves and a whole chorus tried to speak to her. As she wept, she knew: _I'm not getting out of here alive!_

"You SLIMY, DISEASED CUNT!" June shouted, sobbing. "Why don't you just finish me?"

Brigitte kicked her in the ribs. "Because maybe this is your purpose."

With that, Brigitte picked her up by her collar. June stayed limp and continued to sob. Brigitte dragged her roughly down the dark hall around and through junk. It bumped and buffeted her, but she had no will anymore and did not pay any attention to anything. Brigitte pushed open a door. June could barely see in the dim light. They entered a room full of boxes and crates. Brigitte dragged her to the other side of it where there was a door with a big crate in front. Moving it, she took a set of keys from inside a box and unlocked the door.

She put something in June's right hand and said, "It's your choice, now."

Brigitte opened the door and shoved June inside, and threw her backpack in afterward. "And," said Brigitte, "do the throat. Wrists are for girls."

Brigitte left and shut the door. June heard her lock it, and then move the crate. Everything then went totally quiet.

Trying to focus her eyes through the tears, June looked at what Brigitte had put in her hand: a box-cutter.

_"I'd rather die than be what you are." _

Clearly, Brigitte was testing her words. She pulled back her torn and bloody left sleeve. It chilled and nauseated June to see the wound; there was no doubt: it was _already healing. _Taking the bandage off her left wrist, she could see that ugly, jagged cut was already healing as well. She could wiggle her fingers freely. She collapsed against the door and sank down. Her head hurt, felt noisy with music, and full of visions of what she would be like, in a day, in a week, in two, in three.

"You'd be more valuable that way, stronger, better senses," said the Captain, standing next to her.

"What?" said June. She looked up toward where his voice came from, and looked around. She saw nobody. _A hallucination, _thought June. _He's coming back. They're all coming back. I'm losing my mind again._

June recalled Brigitte chewing and spitting out the doctor's thumb. Nobody could have ever fought it harder than Brigitte, which told June that no matter how hard she herself fought, she would lose. It would change her brain physically, and her brain was . . . her; every opinion, every moral stand, every sensation, every thought, every feeling she had. It was everything she willed and everything she was. From her own mental illness she had learned how little will and resistance mattered when one's brain was malfunctioning, the reason why she forgave Brigitte now.

She had only one practical option to stand against it: the present June Collier must kill the future one. Knowing there was an afterlife, she said a prayer, but she had so much to pray for that once she started, it turned into procrastination. She decided then to simply trust that if anything could hear her prayers it would already know her desires.

How badly this had all gone. What purpose could she have possibly had in helping the sisters? It seemed so much like she had a purpose here, but it never became clear.

_Maybe I blew it and never knew it?_

Even though she forgave Brigitte, June knew the suicide would gall her, and she so much wanted to gall her now. Unlike Brigitte, she would be willing to die to stop it.

Determined to do it quickly, before she could chicken out or sink into a morass of second-thoughts, June brought the box cutter to her throat . . .

"HAHH!" Somebody screamed. June dropped the blade in surprise.

"Please . . . lee' me 'lone now!" cried, the female voice. "Oh, who-zat?"

June saw Shannon, waking up. She had sores and bruises on her face and lay in a messy pile of dusty tarps in the corner. She sat up, holding a tarp around her shoulders like a blanket. "June! Huh?" she said with wary drowsiness. "Hi!"

"Shannon?" said June, shocked to see her in such a battered, pitiful state. The room being unheated, Shannon's lips and fingernails were blue, and she not only just shivered, she shuddered and shook. Her complexion looked pale, her eyes glassy, bloodshot and terrified. Blood had clotted solid in her matted hair; her nose ran and she sniffled. She wore nothing but a bloody, open robe, showing June all kinds of contusions and lacerations underneath.

June stood and walked up to her. Shannon drew back into the corner put her arm up in defense.

"NO!" cried Shannon. "It can' be you! They wouln't sen' you to rescue me."

"Oh, my! Your finger!" June crouched down and tried to lightly take her hand. It hurt just seeing it.

Shannon recoiled. "No! Isokay. I can'd feel it andyway r-r-really," she sniffled. "Is it really you June?"

"Yes, it's me," said June.

Shannon blinked up at her bewildered. "June, good . . . to see . . . you. I thought maybe you c-coul' be really be her . . . 'cause my mind isn't right. It cang't be." Her words came out between shakes. "Where's she?" she asked, her eyes getting more terrified.

June noticed Shannon's slurred, drunken speech. "She's left us alone. I don't know for how long. Shannon, your finger, let me look at it, please. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I think I'm hurt'n a real lot of places, don't feel a lot a it though, now. Gett'n comfertbly numb," she chuckled joylessly, and sniffled again. She winced as June's hand drew near it. "I'm not going to touch it," said June, gently.

"Like I said, I don'd think . . . I can't feel it anyway . . . Wait!" said Shannon, suddenly wary. "You're her friend! That's why you're really here! Your not . . . t-t-t-to rescue me." She turned hostile. "What . . . are you going to do to me?"

"No! I'm her prisoner. Like you."

Shannon cried, "No! You're in cahoots with her! Is a trick. She's having fun again wit' . . . me!"

"No, really, she's keeping me locked up here, too!"

Shannon managed to scream clearly, "WHAT IS SHE? You know that!" and went hysterical, or would have if she had the energy. She pummeled June, but it did not hurt, because despite being much bigger, Shannon was now too weak to pummel a puppy.

"Careful, you'll hurt your hand!" said June, who also noticed by smell that somehow Shannon was also drunk. June simply backed away, and Shannon could not even stand up to come after her. She stopped trying, and after sobbing for some time she said, "She . . . she killed Will l-l-and ate him. Ate him! In front of me. . . and then she forced me, she made me . . . huh-alff!" She threw up next to her tarp bedding.

"Oh, fuck!" said June, but she did not turn away. Compared to what she had seen already, this was so easy.

After she finished vomiting, Shannon bawled, her speech was indiscernible until she said, ". . . an' she bit me . . . and told me I would turn into ezacly what . . . she is. She wouln't tell me what she was."

"She bit you?"

"Ye-es," Shannon pulled down her robe and showed June an ugly, unhealed bite on her shoulder. "Please, June, Wha' is she? What 'm I turn-n-ning into?"

"She's a . . . just fucking with you there, Shannon. You don't have to worry about that. Please, I want to help you."

June would have told her, but, somehow and for some reason, she could not make herself say the word "werewolf." Worse, the whole topic felt perilous now. The virus was already manipulating her mind.

June felt envious. _Why didn't it take with her? _It also crossed June's mind that Shannon's battered and exposed condition was the result of Brigitte being _merciful._ How would the doctor be faring with her?

"I thing ur lying-g, ur hidingk something from me," said Shannon, she sniffed. Her slight energy spent, lethargy began to set in again.

"What the fuck have you been drinking?" asked June.

"Izere," Shannon looked around under the tarps. ". . . somewur . . . here," unable to pick it up in her numb hands, she slid an empty pint bottle out into the open and sniffled. June stepped over and picked it up.

"IfI knewyu were comin' I woulda saved ya some," she said. "No, noc' really."

_I wish you had, _thought June. "Where did you get this?"

"Waaay un'er thu sink," said Shannon, gesturing weakly in June's direction.

June finally noticed they were in a utility room with deep sink against the wall behind her. Underneath, there was a hole in the wall where the pipes went out. She looked at the bottle. No brand she recognized, surely, even if she could possibly read the decayed label. June knew these abandoned wings had been closed off at least since the seventies, and probably much earlier. Maybe some alcoholic janitor hid it under there, and died. There it had remained undisturbed for forty years or more. At that age, it probably went down very smooth.

June could not help but chuckle. "You get locked in here, look for a way to get a buzz, and find a bottle lost for fifty years. Who are you, like, Amy Winehouse?"

"Vury fun-yee. No, id e-it! I was lookin' fer a way to die, like drain cleaner er bug poison . . . but . . . 'at's wha' I found. An', fuckit didn'd'd kill me . . . bu' its ma' me feel a little better fer awhile."

_Poor girl._ Drain cleaner or bug poison would have been different, far more effective, modes of suicide for Shannon. They might just have succeeded. "I'm sorry. Was this full?"

"Uh, adidn't look too real close, but ih was really warm iside." Shannon smiled weakly.

"No it isn't. Shannon, you shouldn't have drunk this when you're so hypothermic."

Shannon chuckled once. "Zo f-fucking sh-shoot me . . . please."

"But it will probably help us now. I hope." said June, looking around the room for what materials were at hand. She saw a lot of useful things.

"Ih' will?"

"Yes, we have to set and splint that finger," said June. "So it's better you're drunk and numb as possible. Then we have to get you warm, fed and hydrated." _Also cleaned._

So, despite her desire to, and despite how imminent suicide had been when she arrived in the room, June stayed her suicide while she took care of Shannon, but the inevitability of it never left her mind.

* * *

"She couldn't have just disappeared!" Lewis said, staring at his food. He knew he needed the nutrition, but it neither looked appetizing, nor did he feel hungry. Eating it would be a chore.

"Why? Couldn't she just?" said Frank. "You said they do that at her stage."

They sat together in the Regional Hospital cafeteria. Lewis would have kept them split up, but all trails dead-ended at this hospital. They had questioned and searched for leads all day and had come up with nothing. Arthur's help enabled them to get more access to Brigitte's medical records than otherwise possible, as their investigation was subsumed into the official police investigation of Jeremy Cain's death.

"Yes, you're right; they do," said Lewis, but he despised what it implied: that he lost Brigitte when he had been so close; that after two years of heroic resistance, she had lost; that she was now contagious and dangerous; she would go through a complete transformation within thirty hours. He thought of how many she might kill, assault or infect in the state she was in, dependent on her location. The blizzard hitting the area now made her successful rescue far less likely by the hour. He thought of Daphne and the tormented look in her eyes again. Rescued _intermediates_ retained most memories of what they had done. Many did not deal well.

"But her knapsack wasn't even kept in her room. It was locked in a separate locker. And it's gone," said Lewis.

"Must have been stolen . . ." said Frank.

"Terrible break, isn't it? It happens to get stolen at the same time she disappeared?"

"You're grabbing at straws, Lewis. You know it could have been stolen any time over seven days. It's not as large a coincidence as it looks. I know this is hard for you . . . "

"And you have no idea. Check again Frank: have we spoken to every doctor, every nurse, every staff member, every tech, orderly or patient who treated her, who ever saw her? Are we certain, Frank?"

Frank checked his list, "Yes . . ." then Frank saw a name written in the far right margin, camouflaged by notes and away from the main column. "Oh wait. There is one we haven't. A Dr. Javed Gadepalli."

"What? How did we overlook him?" asked Lewis.

"He's not on the regular staff, but more of a consulting physician. He hasn't been around this week, and he only saw her once, for ten minutes, not a full exam," said Frank. "He's only in here one day a week, and that was supposed to be in yesterday, but he never showed. I got caught up in other things in the meantime. He's a psychiatrist."

"A psychiatrist?" Lewis paused. "Why is a psychiatrist seeing an unconscious girl?" It might have been a desperate, perhaps unrelated, thought, but when a trail got cold, Lewis looked at any random detail as a potential break.

"That was my thought yesterday, too. I don't know. Maybe because she was delirious?" said Frank, tapping his fingers on the table in frustration. He felt ready to grasp at straws himself. Not only did he hope to rescue Brigitte, but he now had to see an _intermediate_ werewolf almost like a child had to see a dinosaur exhibit.

"A consulting physician?" said Lewis. "Get his number, and let's look at her file again, find out who called him in."

* * *

Dr. Gadepalli woke up gasping from chilly water being poured on his face. Though his head hurt with an explosion every second, it was not as painful as his right hand, which hurt with a constant stabbing, burning pain. This tormented him more than the fractures in his other hand or even his leg.

Brigitte loomed right over him, or did she? Even with what he thought he remembered, the doctor had his doubts about this creature. Morphologically, it qualified as different species. It had two human-shaped female breasts, but with four other teets on its torso, as though it would be whelping litters. Its genitals could not be viewed due to hair and fur. Though bipedal, it stood on its toes and metatarsals, which were longer than human. Its ankle joint was higher on its leg. The hip and rib structures were also exotic, and it had a tail. Its chilling eyes showed obvious malevolence made scarier by it also having a predator's jaws, teeth and claws. He remembered now how brutally it had crippled him, and bit his thumb off, but he remembered nothing after that. _My thumb! _

In a voice that sounded lower than Brigitte's, but not animal, it said, "Couldn't wait for you to finish your nap, doctor. I don't have a lot of time these days." She tossed away the bucket and sat down hard on his hips, straddling him and whatever he lay on. They were in a mostly empty room, where he lay strapped to some kind of bed that stood barely above the floor. His limbs in restraints, he couldn't move, except for his right arm, which she now raised in front of him, showing him a horrid sight: besides his thumb missing, his entire hand had turned necrotic black. Wire constricted the wrist and throttled off the blood flow.

He screamed. She loved the smell of pain and fear surging from him. It whet her appetite. She took his arm and forced it down out of sight and then put it into a restraint as she said, "Sorry about the hand. I did my best to stop the bleeding, but . . . I'm not medically trained."

He groaned in agony and fear. She could smell that she had infected him, which made his death necessary. Unlike with June, the idea of the doctor turning sickened Brigitte. She did not know why, did not ask.

Though smiling no longer came naturally to her, she showed him her teeth and scooted up onto his chest. She hated him. She no longer resented the changes his meddling had caused, but hatred still drove her now because it was the only emotional connection to him for which she was still capable.

"Brigitte, what has happened to you?" he asked, shivering with cold and fright.

She chuckled, put her claws on his throat. "Wow! Didn't didn't expect you to ask that. Such concern for your patient. Finally! I thought you would ask, 'what's going to happen to me?'"

"So, what's going to happen to me?"

She lightly poked his eye with her claw nail. He yelped.

"One question at a time. If I told you, I'd have to kill you, and I'm going to tell you, so . . . that really answers your second question, doesn't it?"

"Brigitte . . ."

She said in a prissy, teenage-girl voice, "When we first met, I really didn't see the wisdom in what you did, taking away my monkshood and locking me up with a whole bunch of other people. Seemed so dumb to me."

She suddenly poked his other eye lightly and said, "Bink!"

He cried out. She chuckled. "Paying attention? But I couldn't tell you why it was such a bad idea, not you would have believed me even if I had the words. You just can't imagine the frustration I felt."

"Brigitte, please . . . " said Dr. Gadepalli.

She poked his other eye. "Bink!" He yelped. She giggled like a little girl doing something cute. Hearing this feral, wicked creature giggling like a little girl almost unhinged him.

"Excuse me, I'm still talking," she said. "But now you could see why it was dumb, I hope. Just like I told you? But it worked out well, because," she dropped his keys on his chest, "_you_ have given me all of this." She gestured to the room and building around her, "this whole fucking old, building, thirty klicks from anywhere else, totally stocked, and with a big ass snowstorm hitting. It's hunting season now, doctor, and because of you, nobody can do anything about it. It even holds my stalker at bay."

"Your stalker . . ?"

"Long story. I'd say thank you, doc, but . . . you didn't exactly do it deliberately. Nature just took its course as she always does. I'm nature, and I'm a fucking bitch. Just letting your doomed, arrogant ass know how fucking dumb you are."

"Please, there's something I must tell you . . ."

"Shut up!" She snarled.

The doctor, of course, thought Brigitte was roaring at him, but her eyes looked up and away from him and she roared into the empty space, "Get out! I don't care! Go back to jail where you belong!" She paused. "Get out!" she snarled.

_She's hallucinating,_ he realized. Through his pain and fear, the doctor tried to think of a way this could save him. Probably the hallucination expressed the only conscience she could still feel. The tone she took with it let him take a quick guess about who she saw: a sibling or parent. His psychologically trained mind quickly narrowed it down- and he gambled with little to lose.

"Don't you feel bad about sending your mother back to jail?" he asked.

She looked back at him, confused. "Pay no attention to her. It's a family matter," she said.

This told the doctor that Brigitte couldn't tell he wasn't seeing it, or she was not sure. Her hallucinations were at stage three or four. Desperately, he knew he had to somehow awaken a human conscience in her. "You're sending her back to jail, Brigitte. Do you think she belongs there? Do you want her in jail?"

"She did it to herself," said Brigitte.

"What did she do wrong?" he asked.

"She was fucking dumb!" she said.

"Is that how she got caught?"

She sneered at him, grabbed the sides of his head and sunk her claws in deeply as he screamed. "You're playing head games with me, trying to trick me. The subject's closed, don't talk about my mother."

She let go of him. "Now, I'm hungry," she said and scooted back down on top of his hips.

"I wronged you terribly," said the doctor.

"And what does that have to do with dinner?" She tore open his shirt, sending the buttons flying all over.

"No, there's something important you have to know," he said.

"Thinking you're going to save yourself now with more bullshit? This isn't the movies. I don't want information from you, and no hero is going to break into here and rescue you if you buy time. There's no hero left in this story."

"Brigitte, no, it was a terrible thing I did to you," he said, as she clawed and tore open his undershirt.

"No hair. I'm, like, so glad. Hair on the tongue is the pits." She drooled. Spittle fell on his belly with a splat.

"Listen, people hired me to keep you here, they paid an awful lot of money," he said.

"I'm getting bored with this subject . . ."

She got off of him and walked out of the doctor's sight.

He called out, "Please Brigitte, I'm telling you to try to make up for what I've done to you. They didn't tell me anything about your condition, but they wanted me to keep you and psychologically evaluate you. They were supposed to pick you up this mor . . . owwww!" he yelled, as she picked his head up by the hair and put something underneath it. A pillow. He could see now that he lay on an old gurney.

"There, now you have a good view, so we could both participate," she said, crouching down next to him. "I guess I'm a bit of an exhibitionist. Never knew until now. I've only done this once before."

He shuddered and gasped. "They are not going to let you go. Not with all the money they were willing to pay to me. They will be here. They are going look for you and try to catch you."

Brigitte smashed her fist down on the doctor's leg fracture. He screamed. She stood and shouted down at him, "Are we still on that fucking subject?"

She crouched down beside him and lay her claws on the opposite side of his abdomen. "Oh, I did promise to tell you what happened to me. Okay, then. Once I was just a fifteen year old girl from Bailey Downs, Ontario . . ." her claws tore across his abdomen, making five deep, clean cuts. He yelped and turned red, looking down, disbelieving what he saw. In a second, the gashes began to run with blood.

Brigitte drooled at the sight and smell, but after years of hiding it, she felt so much relief to finally talk about the curse now, to her surprise. She put her claws up under his sternum. "Then one night, my sister got attacked by some kind of big animal."

Her claws tore downward, across the previous cuts. He cried out, but it was cut short by coughing and heaving. She chuckled, and quipped, "Want to play tic-tac-toe?" The doctor could only gasp and moan.

"Guess not," she said, and continued. "You won't believe this, it turned out to be a werewolf. Yeah, they really do exist, and . . . we're not at all like what you think."

Her claws slashed his abdomen diagonally twice. His whole belly now a bloody, soupy mess, the blush began to quickly fade from his face and his eyes were getting glassy. His breaths were coming out in groans and muted screams.

She growled and drooled. "Talk more in a bit. Excuse me . . ."

With a snarl, her fangs and claws dug deeply into his gut. He screamed continually and begged her as she eviscerated him and ate his parts before his eyes, pausing to talk to him throughout. She purely enjoyed all of it, unperturbed by any notion of mercy, much less mercy killing, until her animalistic urges completely took over and she dismembered him.

* * *

June had a surprise when she had turned on the sink: not only did it have running water, but hot water, too, at low pressure, but still a miracle.

She passed the cigarette to Shannon, who sat, tears running down her cheeks, with her feet in a small trash can full of warm water. Her finger splinted and wrapped up with strips of tarp,Shannon had screamed as the hot water had agonizingly brought the sensation back. June herself went through the same thing a decade before, having been ice skating and come home with with blue toenails and no sensation in her feet. When her parents soaked her feet in water she remembered the pain being murderous as her toes screamed back to life.

"Fuck!" said Shannon exhausted, still shivering, but relieved and looking grateful. "I hate you!"

"You're welcome," answered June. She felt tired and feverish now. The virus was working on her.

Despite her sickness and worry, she felt lucky at what she found in the room: among other things, an old, rusty claw hammer with a broken tine; a wooden chair missing its back; a good size piece of plywood and some blocks, which would at least allow Shannon to sleep off the floor. There was also a large old rug, mildewed, but warmer than the tarps.

"That was brave of you," said June, taking a peanut butter sandwich out of her backpack. "Here. You have to eat."

"I can'd," said Shannon.

"Shay, you must. You need the energy to bring your body temperature back."

Shannon passed the cigarette back to June, who took a drag.

"I eat now, I'll jus' rolf it up," said Shannon.

"Okay, eat it when you can, then, and as soon as you can."

"Okay."

The cigarette being spent, June walked over to the sink, and crushed the butt out against the wall. She had cleaned Shannon's scrapes and lacerations as best she could under these conditions, using a shirt she had in her backpack as a wash cloth. June would be putting Shannon back to "bed" and she did not look forward to joining her there, but it was the only minimally suitable place to sleep, and it was too cold in here to sleep separately. Away from her now, June undid the strips of tarp she had tied around her sleeve and looked at her arm. The wound had closed and felt numb. In fact, the numbness had spread in a line going down her arm, through her palm, and into her left middle finger. With the feverishness, it was exactly as Ginger and Brigitte described it. In hours, a day at most, she would see animal hair, sprout from the scar. In two days tops, hair will be growing everywhere on her body. Then her mind would begin to change. It already had. She could not say the word "werewolf." That single fact creeped her out more than anything else so far.

She saw a very large insect flying toward the sink. She thought it odd there would be an insect in this cold. She stepped forward to see it better. To her amazement, she realized it was a cicada, maybe bringing a message to her. It landed on the sink, where a clean, white envelope appeared in the filth under it. It did have a message. June closed her eyes.

_No! It isn't real!_

"They say neither are werewolves," said the Captain. June had her eyes closed, he stood near. "The enemy captured you and filled your head with all kinds of confusion."

She did not want to open her eyes, did not want to see him there. _You're not real!_

"Why are you afraid to open your eyes then? Aren't you curious about my message?"

_I'll open my eyes, and you, the bug, and the envelope won't be there._

She opened her eyes. None of them were.

June thought of the blade to her throat again, her only chance of stopping the curse. The threat of psychosis made it more urgent. If she waited too long, she would not be able to do it. Her hand in her coat pocket felt the blade . . . and felt something else.

_Wait! _She realized there could be another way for her.

"What if she comes back?" said Shannon fretfully.

June turned back to her. Of course she did not have an answer. "You're switching subjects," she said, before she could think about it.

* * *

June put the trash can full of hot water down next to Shannon who lay on the "bed."

"Whatever you do," said June, kneeling down, "don't spill this!"

She handed Shannon the whiskey bottle, also filled with hot water. "Hold this in your hands," she said. "It'll warm them."

She picked up a second glass bottle she found, also filled it with hot water, sealed also with a cap. "Keep this one close to your body, or under your arm."

"So," said Shannon, listlessly, "where are you gonna sleep? You look so tired."

"I'll have to sleep there with you. It's too fucking cold. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

She went to the sink and waited. Shannon was far too tired to converse, and it did not take long for her to fall right to sleep. June took the flashlight to the corner of the room farthest from the door, next to the sink, out of Shannon's line of sight. She had set a tarp there on top of a piece of the carpet. Sitting down, she pulled the tarp over herself and took out the syringe.

Brigitte had waited more than a full day to take the first dose. June guessed maybe if she herself used it early enough, it could cure her. With no other option but to slit her throat, she would try it. She took the cover off the needle, looking at her ugly bite scar. Right above it, she found a good vein. She raised the needle and tapped it, watched the air bubbles rise out. June hated needles, but she hated werewolfism and suicide even more.

She wrapped a tarp strip around her arm, tightened it, found the vein again, put the needle in and pushed the plunger. It felt cold going in, as shots always did. She could feel it filling the veins in her hand. The wound scar began to hurt, then her palm and middle finger, they all hurt. _Good! It will work. _She pushed the plunger as far as it would go, emptying the barrel.

She took the tarp strip off. The chilliness began to spread up her arm, which she put above her head while pressing her bare thumb on the puncture to stop the bleeding. She suddenly sweat profusely, feeling like the room's chilly air just penetrated her coat. Her arm began to feel too weak to hold up. Sickness hit suddenly, and worsened within minutes.

Then, June realized her error: she had taken a dose that Brigitte had measured out for herself; not only did Brigitte weigh more than her, but she had built up a tolerance over two years. June had an agonizing headache now, and was feeling worse by the second.

_Maybe cutting my throat would have been better? _

She heaved, losing everything in her stomach, then she dry-heaved. She did not know how long this went on when horrible burning pains started searing in her face and gut. Her hands and feet tingled painfully, being stuck by thousands of invisible hot needles. Far worse, she could hardly breathe. Bright orange and blue lights flashed in her eyes.

"Shay!" she gasped as she lost consciousness.

* * *

_**A/N: **And the story turns scary and bleak. Fact is, though, it's not near the end._


	20. Insane Proposition

**Chapter 20:**

INSANE PROPOSITION

The last, weak light of day shone through the bloodied window, casting red, transparent blotches on the floor where Brigitte sat, her legs folded under her. Dried Splashes of blood decorated the floor and walls; the splatters no longer looked red, but almost black in the dim light of the abandoned hospital room.

She had gathered the doctor's body parts and lined them up next to the window with care, arm and leg parts, jagged bones sticking from them, then pieces of the torso, then the heart, then the head, with the eyes gouged out and eaten. She had also eaten the tongue and lips after her feeding frenzy had waned. These remains were not fresh enough for her now, but they were still mementos. The remaining euphoria of the kill so much elevated her self-importance, and it was not a pride she had the capacity to question anymore.

She now licked her body clean. Without any idea what to clean first, she had started with her chest and shoulders, then her thighs, then her paws, which were encrusted with delicious gore. Smelling blood on her face, she crawled up to a mirror leaning against the wall, and gazed into it preening. Her teeth and red-brown hair gave her pride, as did her lustrous brown-orange eyes. Fur had begun to encroach onto her face, much prettier to her eye than human facial hair. For the first time in her life, she actually felt beautiful, unaware that Brigitte previously would have hardly shared that perception. She licked her paw and cleaned her face with it. _Like a cat, _she thought. This did not come naturally to her, but cats had such gorgeous coats that she imitated their grooming methods, even as she tried to recall how they tasted.

A ring-tone startled her, playing a classical tune she did not recognize. It came from the doctor's torn-up suit jacket.

"Fuck!" she snarled.

Aggravated, she pounced on it, tore the phone out of the pocket and threw it against the wall, smashing it almost into dust. She then licked her paws again, and went back to the mirror for more grooming, combing her hair/mane with her skillful claws. Any human being would have found the room too dark for grooming, and it had almost reached the point where she could not see the pretty red-brown tones of her fur. Her night vision rocked, but not so much for a few colors. She would have to finish in a hurry.

Before she could, she started to suffer a headache, she saw a shadow behind her in the mirror. She whirled on all fours, when an explosive force struck her first in the head, then in both her shoulders, knocking her flat and dazing her. She could barely turn her head to the side to see what hit her.

Ginger stepped the rest of the way out of the mirror, the dirty surface shimmered like a pond with her emergence. This time, she carried a crowbar, which she threw away. Brigitte did not hear it land, but suffered too much pain to notice.

Looming over Brigitte, Ginger said, "You're still easily distracted, you always look the wrong way, and you're just fucking slow. Just like field hockey, remember, Bee?"

Brigitte tried to recover from the blows, but found again to her frustration, she could move nothing but her head "Ginger! I got rid of you. You can't be here!"

"Fuck you." Ginger sneered. "I only die if you do."

She knelt down on Brigitte's rump and pounded her hard right in the spine. Brigitte cried out as the beating continued, in her back, shoulders and neck, and then in her face. Then Ginger tore her claws right down the center of Brigitte's back, releasing her spine.

A person standing in the room would not see Ginger, but would see Brigitte lying prone, screaming and snarling, and would hear her spine cracking loudly. It grew in size at the neck and between the shoulders, stretching the skin until it broke. A new, wet layer emerged underneath that swiftly began to grow red fur. Her shoulders gained mass. Her arms thickened by inches. Her eyes turned pure orange. Two new teeth emerged. Her face altered further and gained more fur as did the rest of her body. Brigitte felt Ginger pulling her fur out, as the mane running down her back was shed.

"Ginger!" yelled Pamela, "stop beating your sister! Come here, now young lady!"

Brigitte turned her head to look at where her mother's voice had come from. A jail cell door had appeared in the wall where the largest blood splatter had been. Pamela stood in there, her hands on the bars, her once pure black hair looking ragged and gray.

Ginger got off of Brigitte. "What are going to do, _Pam-el-la?"_ Ginger swaggered, as she kicked Brigitte. "Give me a time out? Lock _me_ in the fucking cell with you and make me stand in the corner. Oh, please let me in."

Ginger lunged at her mother, who screamed, but both they and the cell door disappeared before Ginger reached it. The bloodied peeling paint of the wall had returned. Alone now, Brigitte started to move again, noticing immediately all the changes. Her neck and shoulders were angled, thrusting her head forward. Her muzzle and nose had lengthened. She immediately looked toward the mirror and could see the change in her facial lines, but it now had become too dark to see the colors of her fur. The pain had been excruciating. Her face, neck, back and shoulders still hurt, and all of her bones continued to ache, but the pains were fading fast.

Even as she embraced the changes, she still feared the physical agony they would bring, but it wasn't the what she feared most about this now.

She suddenly felt tired and very hungry. Crawling on all fours over to the remains, which were suddenly fresh enough for her again, she slid a leg out with her claw. Tearing the cloth away and, she pinned the thigh down on the floor, and dug in with her teeth. The lean meat tore off easily, she chewed and swallowed, then took another bite and another. Not as fresh, it lacked in flavor, but her body still warmed her with rewarding satisfaction. She continued to do this contentedly for some minutes.

Then a phone rang. It came from the doctor's pea coat lying on the floor across the room. She gaped in surprise, letting food fall from her mouth.

_What the fuck? I already smashed his phone! Am I going to have to smash dozens?_

It rang and rang again while she gawked. It was a plain ring and not a ring-tone this time. Curious now, she stood upright, walked with her swaying gait over to the coat and picked it up. Her claws caught on the pocket's material as she reached in. She had to unravel them and tear the cloth to get to the phone, which continued on its ninth ring.

Finally, she reached it and tore it out. The screen said "Restricted" as it rang again. She opened it.

"Brigitte?" said the electronically altered, approximately male voice. She brought the phone next to her pointed ear. The process that equalized and disguised the voice made it sound ugly to her. She felt confused and suspicious. Of all things that happened to her, this was by far the most perplexing. She did not, could not answer.

"You can hear me, I know," said the voice.

"Who is this?" said Brigitte, finally. Her voice sounded low and gravely, hardly like the girl she once was.

"A friend you haven't met yet, Brigitte."

She almost wondered if she were back at Bailey Downs half asleep answering a prank call.

"What the FUCK kind of bullshit is that?" she growled.

"I know what you must be going through," said the flat, approximately male voice.

"Oh, you do? You must be pretty fucked up then." She tensed so much that in the dark, she looked as solid as a bronze statue.

"I heard your conversation with the doctor."

"You lie, how could you?"

"And it's okay. You gave him what he deserved."

Not exactly how Brigitte saw their interaction. _We were alone. How could he know? _Withher sense of smell cut out of this exchange, she had no idea what this voice's emotions really were, and now felt seriously freaked out, blind and angry. "What do you want?"

"I just want you to talk to someone here, Brigitte, and he'll tell you everything and will answer all of your questions. Just wait."

In the pause, Brigitte heard a click. The sound frequencies widened. She could now hear room tones. With another click, she heard slight echoes and perceived another receiver had been activated. She could hear it being handled and passed to somebody. She heard the fingers grasp the unit.

This person said, in a sorrowful, stricken tone,"Brigitte, honey? It has been so long. I've missed you so much."

She recognized the voice all too vividly. She gasped, her breath caught, and everything stopped. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her voice froze, tears came to her eyes; her mouth dangled open. Momentarily, this powerful creature reeled as though shot.

"Brigitte, are you there, darling?" said the forlorn voice.

At that moment, it was as though an invulnerable, invisible hand reached through her jaws, into her mouth, down her throat, all the way into her gut. She gagged. It reached deeply, feeling, searching, groping down painfully within her for something, something lost, something mostly digested there, almost gone, slippery and half-dissolved. The hand seemed to grasp and pull it . . .

She moaned at first, but the moan continued, getting gradually louder and louder, until it became a deafening, long woman's scream. The anguish of both a lost child and a ruined woman tore their way out of her, hopelessly gnarled in fury. Her eyes rolled back; the phone crumbled in her hand; she fell to her knees. The scree ended by turning into a howl until she fell flat on the floor sobbing. She then felt something normal that gave her some security now: the angry urge to tear something, anything into "fucking little itty-bitty pieces," but then she heard an answering howl from outside: Jason. She could recognize his words, too, but her mind did not process them. Her body tensed up again and shook. She wanted to hide.

_I told you never to look for me, and never, ever find me!_

It had been her father's voice on the phone. The first time in two years she had heard it.

And if he came near her now, she would surely kill him.

* * *

Inside the diner, Lewis and Frank sat slumped at the table, hardly touching their late dinners. In the dark outside the window, snow fell blindingly while the hard, ceaseless wind blew it into swirls of lost hopes. Its drafts infiltrated the warmth of the diner. Defeat hung bitterly in the air between them as they reviewed the facts they found.

"Dr. Gadepalli made photo copies of somebody's file on the day he visited Brigitte," said Lewis.

"Yes," said Frank, "but that was also the same day he visited all his patients at regional."

"The clerk remembers it because the doctor insisted on pulling the file and making the copies himself. The requisition seems to have disappeared in the meantime. Someone on staff accessed the electronic copy after Brigitte disappeared. We just don't know who; they used a generic account.

Lewis continued, "Now, the doctor has not arrived home, and he's also neither at his hospital, nor his research lab. Where is he?"

"Yes, nobody seems to know," Frank said, sighing. "The last anybody ever saw of him was this afternoon at his hospital, a place called Four Point Youth Psychiatric about eighty kilometers from here. They said he was coming into town, transferring somebody into a community home here."

"And you contacted the community home?"

"And they know nothing about it. No paperwork was filed with them for any such transfer."

"So, he lied to his staff?"

"Yes. And _'allegedly'_ disappeared with a patient."

"Have they eloped, you think?" Lewis asked, sardonically.

"Bad day to do it," answered Frank, looking out at the snowstorm.

"Isn't it very usual for a doctor to personally transfer a patient anyway? Especially when it's forty kilometers out of his usual commute route, with a major snow storm coming?"

"It's all strange, Lewis, but until we can question him, we have no reason to think he's connected with Brigitte's disappearance."

"And nobody seems to even know why he was even connected to Brigitte's case to begin with. Nobody remembered calling him in to examine her. She was unconscious, so it doesn't make sense for a psychiatrist, and no reason was given in her file. Not to mention that what he wrote in her file is totally illegible."

"Yes, odd to not know that, but we still have no reason to believe he had anything to do with it. She might have just walked out, Lewis. That's still the most likely explanation."

"No, it isn't. Animal control has had no further reports of mutilated dogs or animal's missing from the day she disappeared. If she has gone actively _intermediate,_ that would be her main food source. If not, Jason has to feed on something. She went by vehicle Frank, and Jason must have trailed her."

"So, she's not in town. She could have traveled on foot. You said she could run fast, for a long time, and maybe tolerate the cold," said Frank.

"With only a hospital gown and a pair of slippers? She wouldn't be running outdoors with a monster like Jason on her tail. I doubt she would even go outdoors at night with him out there unless she had a vehicle right away."

"She might have stolen one. You said she lived basically by thievery."

"No vehicles were reported stolen from the vicinity of Regional on Sunday or Monday," said Lewis.

"Hitch-hike?" said Frank.

"After what happened to Jeremy Cain? I can't see her waiting on the road for a ride with Jason around. Also, her hospital gown would have attracted attention. We know she couldn't have gotten to her belongings. This means she had no money, so she couldn't take a bus. No, she had to have left directly by vehicle."

Lewis, took a sip of his cold coffee. Frank took a small bite of his food. "Then we have Dr. Gadepalli who apparently went out of his way to encounter Brigitte, for unknown reasons, and who has been acting very odd afterward. And how is it he would disappear on the very day at almost to the very hour we were going to question him?"

"It's very suggestive, Lewis."

"Yes, and little else. We really needed to question him today. Without him we're just quickly running out of time." Lewis paused and sipped some water, washing the bad flavor of the coffee from his mouth. He continued, "He left with a patient. I presume this person disappeared, too. What was the patient's name?"

"No luck, June Collier."

"Glad you checked. No, I didn't expect her to be named Brigitte. Possible abduction?" said Lewis.

"Yes, but do we even know if it's related? He could have just slipped off the road in the bad weather."

Lewis' brow wrinkled more than it had been lately. "That's two hospitalized adolescent girls disappearing within a week, both associated with Gadepalli. I'll have to call the station, see if there have been any others before."

Frank sat back, frustrated and skeptical. "Lewis, we're going in circles around this guy . . . "

"You're right, but I think we've been assuming something that should be re-examined. Maybe Brigitte didn't actually regain consciousness. Maybe she was transferred out unconscious."

"Abducted?"

"Yes. And if that's the case, there had to have been an inside man."

"Gadepalli? Now this is just too absurd," said Frank. "We're getting into conspiracy theories now."

"Actually, I'm surprised werewolfism is not widely noticed yet. What if a corporate or clandestine organization has uncovered it, and they're looking into it? Let's see if there's anything else strange we could find out about Gadepalli and his two businesses, that hospital and lab you mentioned."

"It's only nine o'clock on a Friday night," said Frank, shaking his head but smiling. "Let's do it."

* * *

"Help her . . . Help her!" whispered the wind to Shannon. It whistled in through the boarded up windows overhead.

She awoke from a dreamless, drunken sleep, opened her eyes to the dim light to see a figure kneeling next to her. It seemed to be made of slightly luminescent smoke, with vague, transparent features, faceless except for the eyes. Shannon gasped in fear and wonder. She knew immediately it was a ghost, which made her hangover moot. While she lay petrified and gaping, it barely held its shape.

"June!" she screamed.

"Help her!" said the whisper, which seemed to come from nowhere in particular, as the ghost faded. Shannon blinked momentarily.

"June?" she said, seeing her friend nowhere. Her eyes scanned the dim room as she heard shallow, rasping breaths from somewhere, but the echoing wind made the noise impossible to locate by ear. She got out of the improvised bedding, and immediately shivered in the harsh cold. She still wore nothing but a robe and was in her bare feet on a floor full of debris. "June, what happened? Where are you?"

After some fruitless waste of time searching the wrong places, she finally spotted June partially hidden in the corner, halfway under a tarp. Unconscious, mouth dangling open, her mindless body struggled for breath. Shannon knelt down and found the syringe and put it back down. _Overdose? June?_ She grabbed June's face.

"June! June! Can you hear me? Wake up!"

Not only was June totally unconscious, but she had no muscle tone whatsoever. Her tiny body might as well have been a plastic bag of gelatine and bones. The light in the corner was so dim, it was almost dark. Shannon could not see her well enough. She decided to get her out of the cold and dark before doing anything else. June lay on a piece of carpet. Shannon repositioned her completely on it, and dragged it over to the bed. Shannon's feet which had some sensation now, were stepping painfully on the trash.

The tall girl managed to get June into the bed and began to cover her. The lighting, which came from one old, low-watt bulb, showed June's complexion was bluish. Shannon began to panic.

_What can I do? Mouth to mouth?_

She didn't know exactly how to do it, but the girl would die if she didn't try something. She tried to remember something about it. She put her bandaged hand underneath, leaned June's head back, pinched June's nose shut, locked lips and exhaled. June's chest expanded, then contracted as Shannon took another breath. In a few seconds she did it once again, and then again.

After she did it for a few minutes, it looked like June's color was getting better.

"Oh, good! You're not going to die, June!" said aloud.

She continued, one breath every three seconds, she now remembered. Or thought she did. Freezing, she did stop to get herself under the rug for warmth.

_How long do I keep this up?_

She then swore that she would keep it up until June woke up, or until they were rescued.

Or until they died.

* * *

It might have been an hour, or it might have been two hours straight of giving mouth-to-mouth when Shannon heard the sound of a crate being moved outside. By this time, Shannon's skinned knees had hurt too much, and she had laid down next to June to continue the treatment. As the keys were inserted in the lock, her entire body tensed, her breathing stopped, and she had to calm herself to give June another breath. There was the sound of the key inserted into the lock. The door opened. Shannon looked up. It wasn't a rescue.

_Oh no!_

Brigitte, a far worse version of her, loomed in the doorway. She seemed to stand taller despite her head now leaning forward. Her features reminded Shannon of something now, something dog-like, but before she could think of it, her mind froze in fear.

Brigitte had come in to check on June, convinced that the girl would not kill herself and would be in a much more reasonable mood once she had some time to consider what Brigitte had done for her. Upon seeing Shannon embracing June, Brigitte thought the obvious, but her nose revealed a complete lack of arousal in their scents. This momentarily puzzled Brigitte. They were, after all, lying together with Shannon kissing June on the lips. Then, she smelled monkshood in June's scent. As Shannon gaped, Brigitte heard June's labored breathing and then her feeble, barely audible heartbeat.

"Fuck!" cried Brigitte, her voice now a growl. She stalked toward them with her swinging gait. "Fucking idiot bitch!" As smugly certain as she had been that June would not commit suicide, the possibility of the young girl overdosing herself on monkshood had never occurred to Brigitte.

Shannon positioned herself completely over June, covering her.

"You stay away from her," said Shannon, with a bravery she had never showed before.

Brigitte picked her up by her blood-encrusted hair and would have split her open but did not want to deal with the distraction the bleeding would cause. Instead she threw Shannon aside. Shannon landed flat on her belly. Brigitte picked June's limp body up and put it on the carpet. She could sense Shannon getting bold again. "One more move, Bee, and I'll stuff your guts down that sink while you fucking beg me to kill you." Shannon wisely froze again.

If she bit into June, Brigitte knew she would probably lose control of herself. Instead she picked up the box cutter which happened to be lying on the carpet. She then spotted the part of June's throat with the greatest pulse and cut it, a deep, short vertical cut. Blood immediately spurted out a third of a meter.

"No!" cried Shannon lunging at Brigitte, who simply caught her with one claw and tossed her overhead. The big girl landed on her back close to the sink, and then curled up in pain.

Brigitte turned back to June and watched to blood spurt. _Fuck! She's fading. That spurt should be almost a meter. _The bleeding would have driven Brigitte into frenzy, but she perceived June as kin now. June's blood was like her own.

"Don't kill her. Stop!" Shannon cried, turning over and climbing unsteadily to her feet again despite her agony.

"_Kill_ her?" said Brigitte derisively as she bit into her own wrist. "Stupid bitch, I'm trying to _save _her." That startled Shannon into stillness. Bright blood had sprayed three more times from June's neck and similarly from Brigitte's wrist, which she then pressed hard against the neck wound. Under pressure, June's throat no longer bled out. Shannon had doubled over again and was moaning and swearing. Little wonder. Brigitte had tossed her by her crotch. After a few minutes, Shannon had stopped moaning, when Brigitte noticed June turning blue.

"Come here!" said Brigitte. Shannon wouldn't move. In a calmer if not more friendly, voice she said, "Come here!"

Shannon approached warily, looking at this animal bent down with its wrist against June's throat, it's claws around her friend's chin, but not digging in.

"Give her mouth-to-mouth again," said Brigitte.

Shannon wavered.

"Come on! I can't do it," Brigitte gesturing to her own altered jaws. "She'll die if you don't."

Shannon overcame any reservations about it, knelt down next to June and gave mouth-to-mouth.

In five minutes, June started breathing strong and steadily on her own. Brigitte took her wrist off June's throat. Shannon was not surprised that the wound on Brigitte's wrist had closed. She had seen that miracle before, but the wound on June's throat being closed as well stunned her.

June moaned. She gasped almost panted. She hadn't opened her eyes yet. To June, even the dim light in here looked so bright. Her limbs tingled, though not painfully, and the inside of her stomach burned. She also could not feel her mouth, and did not know that she now had bitten her tongue, which bled. There was something worse than sickness in the way she felt, something that was impossible to name, a fear that she was a different person than the June Collier who had passed out. She heard music, something powerful and grim: _Siegfried's Funeral March, _and it sounded like the orchestra was right in the room. She moaned again. "Uhhg, Shay . . . "

_. . . you should have let me die, _thought June.

"Welcome back, Rose Petal," said the Captain, calling June by her old code name. He sounded like he was standing in the room. June kept her eyes closed, ignoring his voice.

Shannon touched June's hand, which was still limp. "Yes, I'm here," she said.

"I feel . . . so . . . strange." she said between gasps. "What the fuck did she do to me, Shay?"

"You were awake?" asked Shannon, who was sitting next to June on the rug.

"Yes, I was fucking awake then!" said June, she began to cry. "I couldn't feel a fucking thing, but I could hear both of you. What the fuck did she do to me, and how the fuck could you let her do it?"

"I'm still here, June," said Brigitte. "I gave you the fucking antidote, that's what I did. Saved your stupid ass."

"Brigitte, what do you mean? Tell me, please," said June, who opened her eyes then. She had tears in them, and her pupils totally dilated, so even the poor light looked bright. She saw that Brigitte had changed even further. Not only that, there was an eight-foot tall man in uniform standing behind Brigitte. The Captain. "Oh . . . Gods!" said June.

"You've become religious, finally," said the Captain, smugly.

_"Shut up," _thought June closing her eyes again.

"I'll forgive your insubordination this time," the Captain said, standing next to her now.

"I have a busy night," answered Brigitte. "You and 'Shay' are hitting it off really good, she could tell you what I did." Brigitte then turned away and walked toward the door.

"One day, Brigitte," June rasped out. "One day!"

It had a different meaning than what Shannon thought, but Brigitte caught it.

"Yeah," answered Brigitte. "The best, longest, fucking day of my life."

She left and closed the door. Outside, they heard the keys, and then the crate being moved. They waited for silence. Shannon was sitting next to June, shivering terribly. She didn't say anything.

June still refused to look directly at the Captain, but she knew he wore an impeccable uniform and perfect, spit-shined boots. She then stopped herself from thinking about his appearance, knowing it would make her want to look at him. She was going to fight against his existence with everything she had.

Besides the distraction of the eight-foot tall hallucination, June itched everywhere as her sensations came back, but there was a deeper confusion about her own body now. Like the internal sense of her body being distorted, and she couldn't tell if she was too cold or too hot or how long her limbs were supposed to be. Her lips and mouth felt numb. She sat up. Unbeknown to her, blood dripped from her mouth. "Oh, I'm so fucking thirsty!" She found the quart bottle full of water in the bedding behind Shannon. June moved over into the bedding removed the cap, took a pull. Her mouth being numb, a little water spilled from her lips and down her front. June finally asked, "Shay, please, what did she do to me?"

"First, I want to know what she is, June. You haven't fucking told me."

June still could not say the word, could not approach the subject, and felt smoldering rage at Shannon for even asking. She tried to think through it. Her thoughts and emotions overloaded and confused her.

"It's none of your business, Shay," she heard herself saying.

"How the fuck can you say that?"

"True . . . I know!" She shook her head. June felt like her mind was dragging her in circles by her hair. "Uh . . . uh, I'm trying! I'm trying!" She pleaded, held her temples, then her voice changed to an angry tone. "Don't you see that it's none of your fucking business, bitch?"

"No! I don't," Shannon stopped to shiver, then said, "I'm not telling you what you want to know until you tell me what she is."

June felt like Shannon threatened her, that she would coerce her, and would then kill her when she found out.

_No! It's working on my mind, _June thought, horrified.

"Please, Shay, I can't say the word!" June cried. "Think of how she looks now, and . . . tomorrow night is a full moon . . . "

"No!" Shannon cried abruptly, and stood up and backed away from June, looking frightened of her now.

". . . and she's going to change a lot more."

"Werewolf?"

The word fell like a bomb. June nodded just barely, and looked away.

"Oh, my God! She bit me!" Shannon shivered, but uncovered her shoulder again and looked at the bite wound. "She bit me! Did you lie to me? Am I going to change?"

"No, Shay," said June forlornly. "For some reason, it didn't take with you."

"How do you know?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Because if it did, it would look like this." In tears June held up her left arm. Dark brown hairs sprouted from her bite scar and the cut scar on her wrist like weeds around a fence. June lowered her arm and looked at them. She stared into her own doom.

"June . . ." Shannon started, sympathetically, and then changed to, "are you going to change tomorrow?"

"No, I know all about it from . . . Brigitte. Her sister got bit first. It has an incubation period, it needs some time to work on you before the full moon. I'll change gradually, like Brigitte has, like her sister did, until the next full moon, when . . . I'll be gone . . . for good." She looked over at Shannon. "There's no changing back."

Shannon looked at her in shock and sympathy, silent except for her teeth chattering. Regretfully, June thought of how she would have to somehow kill her now.

_ She forced me to tell. Now she'll betray me. She might even try to kill me._

"No, you don't have to kill her," said the Captain, who stepped forward so that his legs with their brown trousers and spit polished dress boots came into view right next to her. She still dare not look up at him. "I have a plan to rescue you, approved by the council."

_"Shut up! The council is my delusion, and _you're_ my hallucination," _thought June.

"That's not true," said the Captain, with a chuckle. "But even if it were, that would make me simply a part of your own mind, a part with an idea, wouldn't it?"

"How did this happen?" asked Shannon, who still stood at a distance looking scared and cold.

_ You're the insane part of my mind! _thought June. This was different for the Captain; he never spoke in hypotheticals before.

"June what is it?" asked Shannon. Noticing her silence and distant expression.

"Nothing . . . more than the obvious," said June. "What did she do to me, Shay?"

The Captain went on, "You're planning the murder of a civilian. I think that would make me the sane part of your mind now."

"Fuck! Please!" said Shannon, shuddering. "I c-c-can't fucking take the cold anymore." She came over and sat back again on the "bed" next to June. "I'll tell you, but let's get under the covers, please. Or . . . I'm gonna die." There was real anxiety in Shannon's voice about this. "It's too cold under them alone now that I'm so cold again."

June complied meekly and got under the covers with her. She had wished that she had had clothes that minimally fit Shannon, but they were all far too small. "I'll draw some more hot water, once I feel better," said June.

The Captain had backed off further. "Rose Petal, what if you're really the part your mind that has gone insane, and the sane part, say, myself, can only reach you through hallucinations now? I have a plan that will reveal the purpose you were looking for, and, if you follow it, you will accomplish that purpose and you will get out of here alive."

_Yes, I remember what happened when I followed your commands before!_

"The enemy captured and brainwashed you, that's why you believe that," said the Captain. "But the brainwashing is wearing off. Consider rejoining. You're other options now are . . . not good."

Shannon snuggled her close, starving for warmth.

"Shay, you need to eat something," said June, reaching for her backpack.

"I saw a ghost, June," said Shannon. "It woke me up and told me you were in trouble, otherwise you would have died."

Surprised, June blurted out, "Did it have red hair?"

"What? No!" said Shannon, surprised back. "You were you expecting a red-headed ghost?"

"No, I was hoping, but ghosts certainly seem to like me," said June.

"What are you?"

"I don't know anymore," said June, who reached again for the backpack.

Despite herself, June was considering the Captain's proposition, but simultaneously began to wait for the opportunity to kill Shay.


	21. A Choice of Madness

**Chapter 21:**

A CHOICE OF MADNESS

The car slid to a stop on the snow-blown road, skidding past the driveway obscured in the storm. The driver, Jesse, angrily threw it into reverse to line it up for the left turn. It took him three passes to spot the sign reading, "Four Point Youth Psychiatric Hospital," a light blue sign with slender black lettering, too easy to miss in this snowstorm.

Cannabis haze fogged the inside of the car. He grumbled to Eric in the passenger seat and Shane in the back seat, "There it is, almost passed it again. No help from either of you fags." Woods surrounded the road, desolate except for Jesse's car, which continued in reverse.

Eric giggled. He had brown-hair and a very round face. "We're, like, an hour late. Think Max'd still be waiting outside in this?"

"Max hasn't even got out, yet." said Jesse irritably, making the turn. "Fucker can't find his way out of a paper bag with a compass, and this place is _huge._"

"Oh, how do you know?" asked Eric.

"He told me all about it," said Jesse, annoyed, needing to get stoned like they were before stupidity was funny to him.

Long, blond hair on his shoulders, he sneered with contempt and envy at the buzz these guys already had. At times like this, Jesse resented Eric who, with Shane, had jumped the gun on the partying, leaving him with all the pre-party work. He glanced back at Shane, who merely stared at the snowflakes swirling, his eyes as big as blue Frisbees. _Stupid shit dropped acid already, _thought Jesse. Eric already smoked two-joints by himself. Jesse allowed himself just a small buzz, holding back so he could find the hospital and navigate through the blizzard. It wasn't a total whiteout yet, but it was getting there. Luckily, the cabin was close and well supplied.

As his sedan turned, he discovered that the drive did not meet perpendicular, but at an oblique angle to the right. It then sloped downward, and hooked immediately left. "Fuck!" he swore, trying to keep from ditching his sedan. He followed the reflective markers. The snow chains definitely came in handy now. He eased up on the gas pedal and gained control of his old Volvo.

"Come on, man," said Eric. "You trying to get us stranded, here?"

"Crazy Max could have warned us about that hook in the road," griped Jesse. He drove up a slight grade with heavy pines on each side. About sixty meters (or yards) through, sloping upward, the drive opened up to a lit parking lot. He drove warily straight ahead, and finally, in the lights, through the near whiteout, he saw the stark outline of a building.

As he drove closer and saw it more clearly, he couldn't believe its facade. _Is that fucking marble?_ It was as though somebody long ago dropped an expensive, museum-like building with fantastic architecture in the middle of the desolate Canadian countryside.

"Man!" said Eric. "Where the fuck did this come from?"

"Yeah, Max told me it used to be for TB patients two centuries ago," said Jesse. "TB was a big problem, then."

"Fuck, I didn't know you paid attention in history class," said Eric, mockingly awed. After a pause, he asked, "What the fuck's TB, man?"

"Sort of like AIDS," said Jesse, who had never said the word tuberculosis aloud and didn't know exactly what it was anyway.

"So they sent all the fags here?"

"You're so ignorant," said Jesse, annoyed. Even for him, that joke was tasteless. "No, dickhead, they found a cure for TB, so then made this the provincial mental institution. Until about fifty years ago."

"What happened then?"

"They closed it mostly, and then a private company took it over. Now the biggest part of it is deserted."

Neither of them knew that the town that used to accompany the building had also been abandoned in the early twentieth century.

Jesse drove to the right hand side of the lot near the building where Max had told him to wait. The poor visibility forced him to drive slowly and carefully, which was against his nature. He didn't want to ditch his car because he knew he couldn't count on either of these two guys to help push it out. In the late night less than a dozen snow-covered cars were parked in the lot, which had apparently been plowed sometime earlier. In fact, Jesse could see the plow. He went as close to the building, as far to the right on the lot as he could and drew to a stop.

"So, what about this chick Max told you about?" asked Eric.

Jesse said, "Yeah, he said she fucks everybody. Even a fucking loser like you should have a chance . . ."

They heard a muffled pop from the back right of the car, which sagged over. Shane had jumped so high his head almost hit the ceiling. He cried out. The other two said "Fuck!"

"Shit! How could we get a fucking blowout?" Jesse asked.

"What the fuck did you hit moron?" asked Eric.

Jesse punched him the the shoulder, hard enough to make him grunt. "I was stopped, asshole; I couldn't have hit a fucking thing!"

Outside the car, fifteen meters (forty-five feet) away, a fully animalized werewolf stood on all fours, hidden behind the snow plow, its head turned toward the car, listening. The plow's driver had been dead for hours, his dismembered body deliberately buried in the snow, part by part. The plow itself, had Jesse only been able to observe the driver's side, had its door torn off.

Getting successively stronger at every full moon for two years, this was a huge werewolf, about eight feet long without the tail, and more than 350 kilograms (800 pounds). One might call it Jason, but it long had lost any similarity or identification with the person named Jason McCarty, whose body, mind and memories it had plundered. Now it used Jason's memories solely to aid in hunting humans and avoid detection. It knew intimately how its favorite prey thought, and its use for prey was not limited to food.

With burning blue eyes, irises too large to be human, pupils fringed with black gossamer, and gray, red-flecked fur, his tail waving with anticipation, he listened to their conversation with impatient amusement, waiting for them to inevitably get out. He clinched his paws, and claws extended six centimeters (two inches) from his toes into the hard asphalt under the snow. He needed blood to wash the awful taste of vulcanized rubber from of his mouth, and every second he had to smell exhaust fumes angered him more.

* * *

Brigitte smelled the intruders in the form of cigarette smoke wafting up through the vents. That detail alone told her that they were in or had passed through the furnace room. She listened, and she could hear their voices coming up as well. She dashed toward the the steps.

_Plenty of toys for Bee to chew on!_

* * *

In the furnace room Helen sat with James on metal steps and took the first drag from her cigarette, which Max lit for her. They hadn't been allowed lighters, and she had no idea where he got it and didn't care.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she said, to Max, James, and to the world.

Max, standing in front of them, then lit his own cigarette, while James said, "Hey, gimme that."

"No, here," said Helen, letting James light his off hers.

The three of them were in a huge square room, probably thirty meters (100 feet) on a side or more. It had high, dim, partially working florescent lights and two furnaces: a huge, ancient, kiln-like, coal-burner with an actual hatch in front for stoking, long unused, and a much smaller oil-burning furnace, which apparently heated the only wings remaining in use. It also had a large hot-water heater and a pump system. Unlike the room leading into here, it was devoid of debris, though it was extremely dusty and still smelled of coal. A few old catwalks stretched out above giving access to old pipes and ducts by the ceiling.

"Yes, here's the first joy of getting out," said Max, "being able to light up when you want."

"Hell, yeah!" said Helen.

Being in the hospital had deprived her of substances she loved and always depended on. Smack, coke, pot and acid, Helen used it all. Getting back to them was her whole motivation for escaping. Cigarettes, though, were the worst, even with regular smoke breaks. The whole time hospitalized, Helen's nicotine cravings reminded her every fifteen minutes of her lack of freedom.

How could she have known Shannon would escape and June would be discharged? Max and James did not hide their chagrin over this, but Helen saw it as manageable.

"How do we get out of here now?" she asked.

Max had turned his back on her. He gazed at the compass he had just sneaked out of his pocket. Turning back around, he saw metal steps leading up to a door on the opposite wall from the one they entered through. He pointed to it.

"We go through that door and up there go right," he said. "The hallway on the other side will lead us out."

Max actually made this up, but knew he would get out of here anyway. He also suspected James was onto him, but was going along with it. Besides, he and James agreed to other plans.

"So, how do you know?" asked Helen.

"Because I saw the blueprints," said Max. "Will showed me."

"Yeah, good ol' Will was like that," said James. "He had all kinds of stories about the ancient history of this place, too."

It sounded funny to her, but with James collaborating, she didn't ask questions. How did Will get blueprints, much less have the opportunity to show them to patients? Shannon had showed Helen, however, just how much staff could get away with here. Helen would ask more questions when they were safely gone. She never understood anyway how guys knew their way around so well.

She had spent her whole life lost, and now was no exception.

* * *

The wind ground down with a harsh roar against Jesse's face when he and Eric got out of the car. Snowflakes got in his eyes, or hit his face and started to melt, then froze again, stinging.

"Oh, we're so fucked!" said Eric, above the wind.

"No we're not!" shouted Jesse. "We just have to fix the fucking flat."

"In this weather?" Eric whined they trudged back against the wind. "Sheesh, look at this! Whatever you hit, you're gonna need a fucking new tire."

"What?" Jesse came around the trunk to the passenger side by Eric. He could see what Eric meant. The hole that gaped where the wall met the tread was big enough to fit four fingers in. It wasn't a puncture or a blow out. It looked more like a rip. "What the fuck?"

Eric turned away from the wind to put on his ski mask.

"Look for whatever I hit. I don't want to hit it again pulling out of here," said Jesse. _Maybe I didn't have the car stopped after all._

"I don't think anything's there," said Eric, joking, not liking the prospect of getting on his hands and knees in the snow. "I think some hungry beast ate your fucking tire. The tire monster!"

Irritated, Jesse put the key into the trunk. "Yeah, right, you doink Start looking before I use you as a tire block."

Jesse opened the trunk. He put his head under the hatch to take out the spare tire, lug wrench and jack. Relieved to get cover from the wind momentarily, he pulled down his ski-mask. As he grabbed the tire, he heard a bump. Eric grunted loudly.

"So, what the fuck you find?" asked Jesse, closing the trunk. Eric was gone.

"Eric? Quit fucking around, moron." He looked around the passenger side of the car. There was nothing there but blowing snow, snow and more snow. He went to the passenger door, opened it and looked at Shane, whose eyes were really wide now.

"Keep 'em out there!" Shane cried.

"Did you see Eric?"

"The gummy bears got him! A dozen of them."

"Oh, fuck you! Why'd I ever bring you shitheads along?" shouted Jesse, closing the door.

He looked around and shouted, "Eric! Quit fucking around and get back here, or I mean it, I'll take this lug wrench to your fucking face."

From the driver side, Jesse heard something between a moan and a gurgle, just barely louder than the wind. He tried looked over the car, couldn't see anything.

"Eric, quit fucking around now."

He decided to give up. He would have started to change the tire, but then he noticed the jack was missing.

"Eric!" he said. "Where the fuck are you?" he said walking around the trunk toward the driver's side. "I'm going to take this wrench, and I'm going to . . ."

He found him. Eric lay in the snow next to the driver's door. The bottom of the ski mask had been torn away, but instead of a mouth, lips, teeth and tongue, there was only a gaping hole, which also encompassed his throat. His coat, the shreds of his scarf, and the snow around him were drenched with blood, flecks of which blew away also in the form of red snow-flakes. The tire jack sat on top of Eric's chest.

Standing at Eric's head, a huge gray beast with icy-blue, mean eyes bristled at Jesse. He could see a sneering challenge in its stare. Showing large, bloody teeth, it growled in triumph, and was drawn back on its haunches for a pounce.

Jesse had a resolution to never show fear, and it had taken him far, but here he lapsed, absently dropping the lug wrench. The creature pounced, its head colliding against his raised arms, breaking the left one. He could swear the beast chuckled. Landing on his back, Jesse had the wind knocked out of him as well, and so could not actually scream. The smell was overwhelming. On his back now, he wrapped his right arm, his good one, around his throat, doing his best to protect it, but the horrid animal clasped with its forepaw and held his arm in that position, while it chomped into his thigh taking out a fist-size chunk of muscle leaving his right leg useless. The creature then crunched down on his upper right arm, compound fracturing it, and held on yanking and tearing until Jesse thought it would tear it off. In a space of merely a few seconds, he was totally out of the fight.

_What is this thing?_ He wondered, with what he wished were his dying thoughts. It was big and powerful enough to be a fucking bear, but it wasn't a fucking bear. It looked like a wolf, but it grasped with its forepaws, where it had longer, sharper, retractable claws like a cat.

If not for pain and shock, Jesse would have figured it out: _werewolf._

It crushed his jaw with its clawed hand, and turned him on his side. It then bit down on his head and shook, not hard enough to actually break his neck, which it could do at any time, but simply to inflict more agony. It reveled in every second, Jesse knew it, and tried to scream, but found he couldn't make a sound. Somewhere in these struggles, it had torn out his larynx and vocal cords. He now sounded like the wind, into which his life was rapidly dissolving like snowflakes.

Soon it had wounded his other leg, and castrated him with its teeth. By now Jesse would have begged it to kill him. A cat, merely clueless to another animal's pain, would have been more merciful with a mouse. Now the creature had its paw on his throat, covering the hole in the larynx, the claws digging in, strangling him, but again, not enough pressure to actual kill him or let him pass out.

After about eight of the longest, most horrible minutes of Jesse's abbreviating life, he faded into shock and ceased to be any fun for the werewolf, which then decapitated him. After enjoying some of the warm, but rapidly cooling, meat, it then turned his attention back to the car, which contained more food and fun.

Inside, Shane's trip was about to turn more than just bad. With hungry snowflakes and glowing gummy bears, he would have shut his eyes, but the void breathed at him when he did. There was no escaping this trip. Suddenly, his aft shield was breached, its fragments blasted all over his back; he screamed as something of incredible strength grasped him by the coat collar and pulled him out into the cold to be eaten by piranha-snowflakes while a huge gummy bear jerked him around painfully by the head. Its teeth penetrating his skull, Shane discovered to his misery that they weren't made of gelatin.

* * *

They had finished their smokes. Helen and James had stood up and she waited for Max's gesture to ascend the metal steps that led up to the door.

"You have that flashlight?" he asked James.

"Yeah," James answered, "But I think this room is perfection."

They both paused as Helen asked, "Perfection for wha . . . ?"

On cue, James and Max attacked Helen. Max got behind and held her by her arms, and James punched her twice leaving her dazed. He unzipped her coat while Max took hold of her around the neck. As Helen became aware again, she screamed at first, terrified that they would kill her, until her mind began to work. She had been in this situation before, and knew how to get out of it without being killed. Maybe she could even gain the upper hand. She did her best to stop struggling and get as cool and calm as possible. They had her coat off. Max held her now by the arms again as James yanked her shirt apart sending the buttons flying.

"Get her bra," said James, taking hold of her arms. Max reached under the back of her shirt and unhitched it.

Dissembling, she said to James, "Why didn't you just say so, darling? Of course I'll let you. I'll make it good for you!"

James looked surprised at first, then slapped her.

"It's not going to be that easy for you, bitch," he snarled back.

He pulled down her pants and panties. Helen tried not to panic. Now Max held her from behind again.

"Oh," she said, keeping her voice seductive. "Make it hard. I like it rough!"

James grabbed her by the neck. "You fucking slut!" He punched her, much harder than he had before. The moments around the impact were lost to Helen. When it all came back the world kept on shifting around her. Never had she taken a blow that hard, and never unprotected. Her head throbbed in pure agony. Her knees almost gave out. She struggled to stay conscious.

"You think this is for you?" bellowed James, enraged.

She heard what she thought was Max laughing behind her saying, "She's just trying to get you to pay for it."

"No way, hon!" she said, fearing James would hit her hard again at Max's enticement. "Just give it to me! If you can dish it out I can take it."

James' opened his pants. She trembled. Through her swimming vision, she looked at his erect cock, and felt revulsion and stopped herself from yelping in anticipated pain. Involuntarily, she swallowed, but stayed in character, her very life depended on it. She feigned excitement, "Oooh, wow! I want it in me!"

Helen could see that her acting skills were again paying off. Anxious that she laid it on too thick, it actually appeared finally to be working. James looked surprised and even less angry.

Then something large and furry landed on the floor behind him. The grip on Helen loosened as Max froze in surprise. Before James could react, Helen had heard a muffled crunch coming from within him and he froze, his arms and face tensed, and both he and his erection collapsed. Without time for relief, Helen stood face-to-face with a fanged, orange-eyed horror, who slung her out of the way to confront Max. She fell sprawling and crawled away, her pants at her knees. She ended up in front of the old furnace behind Max and to his right. She swiftly stood, pulling up her panties and pants, though her reeling, throbbing mind had otherwise stopped in bewilderment. The creature faced Max, who stood with his fists in front of him, but otherwise defenseless and gaping.

"Max! James!" It said in a low voice growling voice with a lisp, and a cadence incongruously like a girl's. "I _thought_ you were sleazebags."

James lay prone, moaning. A large spot of blood grew on his lower back around the spine, which had been severed with a stabbing blow. Helen could see blood dripping off the creature's left claw.

Brigitte kicked James in the head with a clawed foot, turning him over on his back, unconscious. She licked her left claw with a tongue, longer, smoother, and flatter than any human's. Then, she lifted her paws in a mockery of Max's stance.

"Come on Max," it bellowed as Helen watched.

For Brigitte, the sexually enticing smells roused her violence. She didn't know why, but the pure acidic contempt she felt for these two was far greater than she felt even toward Dr. Gadepalli. She would _make them suffer for this!_ Seeing that Max was too frozen to try to fight, she stepped in and clawed his left cheek, and stepped out before he could even respond. They were superficial scratches only, but she just loved how the claws felt and sounded when they scored flesh, as powerful as nails on a chalkboard, but pleasurable. She saw and felt fireworks. Max reacted in surprised pain. She could smell his fear, and it was intoxicating. She clenched her paws in an approximation of fists.

"Come on! Put 'em up. Show _this_ girl what you're made of, Max!" it said with a mocking voice made of growls and snarls.

Max didn't understand her, his thoughts were frozen on one word: _Werewolf!_

Of all people who had laid eyes on Brigitte since Bailey Downs, Max was the first to know it at a glance, Brigitte had changed that much; yet, he did not recognize her from yesterday, so much had she changed. Too bewildered and too afraid to either fight or expose his back to it and run, he finally recovered and put up his fists. Brigitte stepped in and clocked him before he could block or swing back. He staggered from the hard, blindingly fast right cross to his temple which messed up his vision on the left side.

Brigitte had pulled her punch, not because she didn't want to hurt him, just the opposite, she wanted to hurt without killing him- too quickly. "Why you hanging back Max, afraid of a little girl like me?"

Helen stood swaying, trying not to faint. Recognition hit her, carried to her consciousness by smell, not a thought, but more like a dream. "Brigitte?" she bleated, shocked.

"Yeah, Dr. Gadfly's meds . . . had a few side effects," said Brigitte, lisping, showing her fangs.

"Ho shit!" answered Helen, to Brigitte's snarling giggle. Helen staggered back and leaned against the coal furnace.

Brigitte stepped in again. Max swung, she ducked it, her claws slashed him. He cried out, and held his ear, looking fearful. He reflexively tried to raise his shoulder on it, which only caused his entire left side to tense up, leaving it vulnerable. They had exchanged positions. Brigitte was now closer and facing away from Helen and the furnace, Max was closest to the steps.

Brigitte's mind replayed the sensation and sound of her claw ripping into his ear. _Oh, that feels so good!_ She saw flashes. _Fireworks!_

To Helen, Brigitte's moves were faster than anything real should ever be. She could not follow them. It was as though Max had swung, Brigitte teleported out of the way, as his ear spouted blood. Only second later did Helen recall the scrapping-ripping sound.

"How is it being owned, Max?" said Brigitte.

Brigitte reveled in the smell of fear and pain. She feigned toward him and he put up his fists defensively, backing away. Brigitte lowered hers. "My head his right here if you can hit it. Big fucking target!" She bowed her head toward max, her arms behind her back.

Max saw his opportunity and swung with everything he had. Brigitte simply caught his fist and bit it, its bones cracked in her teeth satisfyingly. He screamed holding his bleeding hand. Brigitte backed away, high with the taste of blood now, remembering the crunch that echoed pleasantly in her skull, and the sounds of bones cracking, again like the pop of fireworks.

She immediately realized she messed up. She infected him. Now she would have to kill before it took effect, before the scent of his changing body began to soften her hatred toward him.

"Now," Brigitte said slowly standing back, "I'm going to take your balls, and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it. How do you feel about that, Max?"

Helen suddenly said, "Don't . . ."

"Shut up!" Brigitte snapped to her.

As she did, Max grabbed a loose bar from the old railing on the steps and swung it at her. A one-handed swing, it wasn't even close. She ducked and closed before he could backhand. Helen heard a large joint crack. He screamed. Brigitte held him from behind, her left claws at his throat. With her right claws, she rent his belt, denims and shorts open. During this, the metal bar hit the floor with a clang-clang. Helen saw that his right leg bent uselessly to the side at the knee, dislocated.

"All right, deery-eyes," said Brigitte to Helen, making fun of the other girl's use of pet names, "You want his balls? Will that do? I'll take his balls for you, Helen."

"N-a-o," Max simpered. Brigitte's claws poked him in the throat and scrotum. He cried out.

"Sharp, aren't they? I'm very proud of them. They cut like butcher knives, too. Except I don't have to sharpen them." Some drool fell from her jaws onto his arm. Her index finger moved gently making a cut on his neck, while he shut his eyes and groaned. She said to Helen, "You want his dick, too? Just say the word, and his whole junk collection's yours for free."

"N-no," said Helen, emerging a little bit from shock.

Brigitte jeered, "Ohhh. Hell-o! Come on, candy-ass! This fucking loser was raping you!" She felt Max shaking. She said into his ear, but not a whisper, "Ahhh, terrible to have no say about this, isn't it, Max? Isn't it? Don't feel like answering?" She looked back at Helen. "What do you say?"

"No, don't do it!" said Helen.

"What? Oh, I forgot!" said Brigitte, puzzled and angry. She then contemptuously mocked Helen's voice. "'Of course I'll let you. I'll make it good for you.'"

Helen tried to explain it had been an act. "I was just . . ."

"Shut up!" yelled Brigitte growling. She said to Max, "You might be lucky, meat cake. Looks like she doesn't want her rapist's balls," and added, "but you're not really lucky after all Max, because I still want them."

A deep tearing sound wrenched out of Max's crotch. Blood poured out of his groin. He went wide-eyed, and gasped as Brigitte held his bloodied scrotum sack up in front of his eyes. It hung stuck on her clawed fingers, with crudely cut arteries and connective tissues hanging from the top and hair at the bottom.

Helen's hands clutched her mouth. She felt herself heave.

"And this . . . is the last thing you'll ever see," said Brigitte, raking her claws across his eyes before tearing five deep cuts across his throat. Then she broke his neck. He fell limp to the ground, his body twitching randomly and bleeding out.

Helen felt hot drops of blood land on her face. She screamed and ran, not caring that she progressively lost her dinner. She ran back toward the door from which they entered, but Brigitte caught her and held her around the arms. She held her in a grip stronger than Max's, stronger than any man's Helen could imagine. There was no escape from it. Brigitte kept saying her name, as affectionately as her low, growling voice allowed. Helen noticed the smell, a scent that was more pleasant and enticing than the best perfume and cologne put together. It acted to calm Helen, who, through her sore, dazed mind, suddenly felt some odd attraction for this creature. Finally, she began to hear Brigitte's words.

"Helen, Helen, Helen, dear why are you running? Today's the luckiest day of your fucked up life, honey-farts."

"It is?" asked Helen, hopeful and shocked out of her mind. Brigitte let go and turned her around.

Brigitte could heard moans telling her that James had come to behind her.

"Yes. Because I feel sorry for you. Your life really has sucked. I mean the rapist stepfathers, all those beatings, foster homes, homeless shelters . . . I mean, fuck! Now, the great wizard can't give you a better life, but there's something that she can give you, thunder-cunts."

"What?" asked Helen, wistfully.

She grabbed Helen by the jaw, slammed her head into the wall, to stun her, tore her throat and then chomped with her teeth and wrenched Helen's neck with a crack to finish her. It was over before Helen could scream, or even know what happened. Sweet blood rushed into Brigitte's mouth and she swallowed it. The blood stopped too swiftly for her pleasure, though.

Brigitte had wanted more fun from the kill, but she would not have Helen suffer, unlike the doctor, Max, or very soon, James would suffer. Brigitte looked behind her. She bit more deeply into Helen's neck, enjoying the the tender meat there, aware that James was attempting to crawl. Brigitte stood up from Helen's corpse, stalked over to him and stepped on his hand; he groaned. She put more and more weight on it until she heard a bone break. He looked up at her, in too much pain to speak.

"Trying to leave already, James, before you've had some?"

She clenched her foot. Her toe-claws sunk into his hand. He began to cry out. She then stomped, satisfied to hear two other hand bones break. She bent down and raised him up by his hair.

"No, James. Brigitte is loose, and she's a marvelous hostess. You're not leaving . . . until you're totally fucked!" She dropped him. She then stepped to his other side and stomped his other hand, three times. She had heard four bones break.

"Now, I've got some wicked things to do. So you better not move till I come back, or I'll just have to break your elbows next."

* * *

All music had stopped playing in June's head. With a box cutter in hand, she sat on the "bed," her legs under the tarps, with Shannon next to her, eyes closed. She looked from the box-cutter to Shannon's throat and back again.

_ Nothing's stopping you. Do it! _

June's hand shook.

_She forced you tell her! Now she'll either tell or kill you. You must kill her!_

She no longer felt the compassion for Shannon. The lack of that emotion alarmed her. How she resented being robbed of it, resented the fear of Shannon she felt, and despised the paranoia that drove her, yet it made no difference to the strength of her terror and rage toward this pathetic girl.

_Maybe it's because I'm infected?_ Shannon had told her what Brigitte had done, inflicting more virus on her. Though the transformation was still a month away for June, it had already changed her mentally. She tried to reason out some compassion from herself, but the June who had taken care of Shannon just hours before had died, or was comatose.

_She gave you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, saved your fucking life! _

_Eww! Think of where that mouth has been!_ _She only did it because she fucking wants me, the pathetic, raunchy, gutter slut. _

_ KILL HER!_

_ She would be killing ME if I were asleep! The fucking ungrateful quanker._

June found herself trying to stifle her hard breathing, which grew loud enough to wake Shannon. She knew that everything she felt and all the words formed inside her head were lies, but if her mind told the lies long enough and loud enough, ultimately, she'd have no choice but to believe them, especially with her emotions being altered.

_Is this what you went through, Brigitte? Is this how it felt?_

In fact, June did not know, but Shannon was actually awake waiting to find out what she would do. Even exhausted and weak from hypothermia, and with a hangover, Shannon could not possibly sleep knowing what June was, even though she was too battered and weak to really fight even a person June's size.

Sweating and practically panting in the middle of a cold room, June got up and carried the blade with her to the sink, not actually knowing why, but just to get as far away from Shannon as possible. She had stared at the girl too long without blinking; her eyes burned. She leaned forward against the sink and brought the cutter to her throat again. Her index finger felt hair that now poked out of the scar Brigitte had made by "saving her." From sudden curiosity, she cut it and had a look. Dark just like the hair growing out of the scars on her arms. June, always fascinated with biology, wondered about how the replaced cells of the infecting wound must be the first altered, and so formed the first hair follicles of the werewolf. If she had only lived, she possibly would have made werewolfism the subject for her graduate dissertation.

_If I had only lived. _

She took a step back toward the sink, her eyes were burning. She turned on the spigot with a squeak, took a handfuls of water and rinsed her eyes out. Her eyes moistened, she removed the contact lenses. Knowing she wouldn't be using them again, she let them fall into the drain, feeling absolute relief. She blinked, her sight blurry, but her mind crystal clear now. She could think again. She lifted the blade to her throat.

"Don't," said some male voice, making her jump. She felt a chilled dizziness.

To the right side of the sink, standing straight, a little more than two meters (seven feet) away, stood a ghost. Like other spirits, no shadows lay on his features. Gray and balding, tired and bitter looking, dressed in work clothes, he looked even weaker and more ethereal than Bobby. There was no way to tell if he was the ghost that had awakened Shannon earlier and saved June's life. To her, he looked far more substantial than what Shannon described, but that was probably due to June's second sight. Bobby had been visible only to her, and she saw him crystal clear.

June decided to be blunt."You care if I live. Why did you save me?" she whispered.

"Because if you died, you'd probably be haunting _my_ room," he said, being even more blunt.

Disappointment and disgust poured over her. Here she thought it would have been something compassionate and profound, but it was just selfish territoriality. Her anger seethed.

"Get out of my face!" said June, too loud. She lunged and waved her hand through him.

The apparition disappeared with a gasp as she knew it would. June felt a satisfying meanness. She looked back at Shannon, who stirred but her eyes stayed shut.

As June raised the blade to her throat once again, she could feel eyes on her from above. Something, in fact, many things watched her; they lurked behind the visible world waiting to re-emerge. Everything in or hidden behind the room watched her, except Shannon. Scared of looking back at them, she turned back toward the wall over the sink. They waited, waited for her choice between insanities. _Do I kill her, kill myself, or both?_

_ Or . . ._

She closed her eyes.

"All right, I'll do it Captain. I'll follow your plan." she said aloud. She opened her eyes. The Captain was at her left. She turned toward him. He had a thick, dark mustache, black hair and eyebrows, wore a light blue, decorated tunic with cords and a military sash. He sat at his gigantic desk, but even in a chair, he still towered over her.

"Excellent," said the Captain, his thick, dark mustache stretched a little with a smile; all of his teeth were shiny, polished gold. "It's already so good to know you're back in the fight, Rose Petal."

June was no longer trapped in the room with Shannon, she was in a plane that doubled as the Captain's office. The floor swayed beneath her in turbulence. This disoriented her. "How did I get here?" she asked him.


	22. Wicked Things

_**A**__**/**__**N**__**:** Okay, this is no longer the "Beta." Proofreading is done. However, I was surprised at how many changes I made. This is bit different than the original version that went up. **  
**_

* * *

**Chapter 22:**

WICKED THINGS

True to her words when leaving James, Brigitte rapidly instigated the slaughter those who still challenged her for the territory: the staff. Well-prepared, she had learned the location of every entry to the inhabited wings, sealed and unsealed. She felt compelled to know every square, cube and facet of her territory, observing not just its layout, but its wiring and phone lines. She lacked any insight as to why she felt so driven to learn it; her new drives overwhelmed both pondering and doubt.

A vicious and clever predator, she inflicted so much slaughter so suddenly that Four Point's ghosts awoke from their old, listless haunts, confused and agitated, their torpid routines shot to pieces. Over the next day and night, the energies released from the mounting death toll would foment them into a frenzy as deranged as the blizzard outside.

Isolated by that blizzard, the patients at Four Point would wake in the morning to find they had crashed in Hell.

* * *

Emmett made his rounds through the boys' hallway, music playing over his mini-headset, despite the fact that it was against the rules. The twenty-five year-old medical tech knew heads would roll because of the latest escapes, but he also knew he didn't stand tall enough to lose his, not unless somebody let slip about Shannon.

Everybody agreed Laura would definitely go. He felt bad about her. Barring the occasional patient, especially that little one with the massive rack, Laura was the best piece of scenery on the graveyard shift.

Doing rounds involved first checking on the patients one at a time. So far, all were accounted for. The next room was going to be James Lawler's. Emmett knew he was trouble. He and Will had bet that James would soon be diagnosed as a sociopath.

As he walked up to the room, he noticed the stairwell door ajar. _Strange. Rita should have heard from security about this._ He knew procedure would be to report this first, but instead he looked in himself.

In the stairwell, Brigitte made three, short, fast swipes with one claw, shredding his larynx, silencing him. Her other claw struck open-handed into his diaphragm, penetrating him deep beneath his chest. She had always wanted to do that ever since she saw Ginger do it to the janitor. She felt the ecstasy she expected. She picked him up from the inside with that claw, which was squishing through him, and carried him into the stairwell as he flailed silently. Deftly, she grabbed the door handle with her other claw, closing the door quietly.

"Oh, how cute!" she said to him in glee. "I got a puppet!"

Blood spouted from his mouth. He was still alive and looked at her, impaled, utterly helpless, amazed, and doomed. Her claw squished and tore through the hot, richly moist flesh within him, gushing with blood.

She began to thrust it in and out, back and forth and as she whispered to him, "This is so fucking hot! Is this how it felt with Shannon?" It was the last thing he heard.

Outside the stairwell, up the hall, the desk nurse, Rita, thought she heard a muffled splat. She looked down the hall where Emmett had been doing his rounds. It was empty. She heard the wind swirling outside.

"Emmett?" she called. He had just been standing there. _What is he doing? _She thought, irritated.

She came out from behind the counter.

"Emmett?"

No answer. She turned on the hall lights, and warily crept up to investigate.

* * *

The floor of the plane slanted back and forth with turbulence keeping June off-balance. Her inner-ear ran circles in her head. The Captain answered her. "The drugs the enemy gave you effect memory. That's why you can't remember coming here. It has worn off. When you are done here, you will be reinserted into enemy territory. Your memory should be clear by then."

June now had trouble remembering where she had been before. She had been with a tall girl, in some . . . prison cell. She remembered further back to Ginger and Brigitte . . . she had never believed in such things as werewolves before, but having seen the enemy's experiments with the virus she now knew the truth.

The Captain went on, "Now, the council is interested in the contacts you've made. A drink?" He queried but didn't wait for her to answer. He opened up a drawer, and pulled out a tall flask of brandy and two glasses, putting them on the previously empty desk.

"Yes, thank you sir," she said.

He poured both glasses, and moved a glass to her side, gesturing to her. June came to the desk and picked up the glass. Momentarily, she tried then to disbelieve what she was seeing, but the glass was solid in her hand, and the liquid within it smelled and tasted like . . . she wasn't sure it was brandy, which just tasted like pure awfulness to her, but she felt the intoxication right down to her toes.

"You have the necklaces?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she said, unzipping her coat and showing him the two bird skulls. One of them popped at her touch like a carpet shock. Her hand recoiled. She had to look at them to make sure that what her fingers felt on them was not ants. Then she looked away and put them back in her coat before it was too late.

"Good! Just excellent!" said the Captain. "The plan is ready to proceed. then"

He opened up another drawer and took out a live, silver and pink rabbit, which he put on the desk and began to pet. The Captain was a Soldier Templar, and June knew the rabbit was their sacred animal. She knew many secrets about them nobody knew. Everybody thought the Knights Templars were gone for seven hundred years, but no, she knew they were now the Soldiers Templars.

He said, "Your report says that you were holding the necklaces when Brigitte renounced the oath. The research department has determined that oath could not be negated without at least one necklace, but she could put her sister into torment. Now, after your re-insertion, look for a messenger to tell you how to proceed. It's all on a need-to-know-when-you-need-to-know basis."

"I . . . don't remember giving a report," said June.

"Ah, the enemy works upon you again. It will come back to you soon," he said.

June looked at the gigantic soldier petting and feeding a morsel to the tiny rabbit, making cooing sounds to it. She looked around at the airplane. Outside she could hear the muffled sounds of aerial battle, like a thunderstorm with machine-gun bullets. Beneath her feet was red shag carpet. Behind the captain, portraits hung on the wall: Wallenstein, Napoleon, Washington, Patton . . . The ceiling was high. Behind her was a conference table. This was a very spacious airplane. Like a hall almost.

_What am I missing? What's wrong here? I wish I could think! _She felt as though she were trying to wake up, but couldn't.

"But before you're reinserted, it's time for you to meet the allied ambassadors," he said, pushing a button on the top right his desk. June had not seen it before. "They will all want to talk to you and advise you, but have your wits about you, Rose Petal.

* * *

Lying in the tarps pretending to be asleep, Shannon could tell that June had suffered a major psychotic break. She felt doomed. She had nothing like June's intelligence. With the poor girl's mind gone, she despaired at the possibility of either of them surviving.

_But she will, _Shannon thought, _she's going to change. _

Having been in therapy with June for almost a month, Shannon knew generally about her hallucinations and delusions, though June had become lucid by then. Most of what Shannon heard now could be explained by June's belief that she was a spy in an incredibly complex, great war. She couldn't follow the few details given in therapy, and felt no hope in understanding any of it now.

_And she's been bitten, too! _

In the dim light, the tiny brunette paced the room swiftly and spoke in her high voice both quickly and loudly in run-on sentences about battle, eternal armies, and rescuing people from terrorists experiments. She kicked things about as she walked. Shannon knew that besides its rough story arc, it really didn't follow any logic. June seemed to be citing history for a while. There were so many names in her rant, The Templars, the Rosicrucians, the Masons, the Hapsburgs, the Hohenzollerns, the Washingtons, and the Romanovs, and names Shannon could not even pronounce. Plus mentions of spirits, werewolves and elves. She had to marvel at it; June was clearly well-read. Then the manic girl would switch languages. Shannon thought she heard Spanish and French, and also to at least two other languages that she could not recognize.

Finally, to Shannon's greater distress, June went totally quiet, and stood utterly still by the sink. She held a tense, bowed posture for such a long time that Shannon feared she had gone catatonic, like Tamara, another girl in the ward, had.

"June? June?" she called. No response. Shannon waited to see what she would do.

June came to life again at least ten minutes later, turning back toward the "bed" and crouching down in pain as though her muscles hurt. She crawled around, got up and walked toward Shannon, finally sitting on the "bed" next to her.

From June's perspective, she had received her official orders, left the ambassadors' party inside the plane, and parachuted out into a battle zone. Navigating it with a map, which she ate to memorize, she found her way back to Four Point. She then found the secret, one-way tunnel exactly where the map said it was, and went through it to emerge back into the cell from the hole under the sink, which then shrank too small to allow her to leave. June perceived doing all this as Shannon saw her just standing totally still for forty-five minutes. Instead of the sounds of bombs and gun shots and the smell of death, she now heard the swirling wind and smelled mildew. Meanwhile, music played in her head: Blue Oyster Cult, Veteran of the Psychic Wars, played on strings, with an organ.

She felt exhausted but full of fire; she had to stay awake until the messenger came. She picked up the quart of "whiskey," which was actually filled with plain water and took a pull. The harshness of it almost choked her. Shannon chose this time to open her eyes.

"June . . . what's been . . . happening?" She noticed June's eyes looked intense and distant.

"She hasn't come back," said June. "I don't expect her tonight." She offered Shannon the bottle. "Want a pull?"

"Ummm . . . no," Shannon said. "But can I have another smoke?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" said June with absurd enthusiasm. "I was just going to have one, too."

_Little bitch! You told me you only had those two!_ But Shannon never believed her anyway. It had just been June's way of keeping control.

June stood and went for the backpack, and to Shannon's surprise, she seemed quite cheerful, almost easygoing right now, considering the circumstances and mood of their previous conversation. She traipsed around now, kicking debris before her like a tomboy.

They could hear the wind still blowing hard outside. The boarded windows were way above the room, up against the ceiling, which was ten feet at least. Shannon had not paid attention to the weather and did not even know for sure if it was snowing. That didn't matter anyway if they couldn't get out of here.

June brought the cigarettes out of her backpack and spoke quickly. "I don't want you to worry too much- we're both going to get out of here Shay- Brigitte's not really like that- she's just been changed."

That set Shannon off. "Fuck that! Do you have any idea she did to Will, or what she did to me . . ?"

"You don't remember but I'm sure you told me," was June's abrupt, puzzling response, but at least she had come over with the smokes and a lighter. "She's not really like that- I know- when we go she's coming with us- here!"

Before Shannon could protest that, June had offered her a cigarette.

Shannon took a cigarette, June lit it, and then lit her own. Freezing, Shannon kept herself mostly under the tarps. June's coat was torn in the sleeve, but still effective. Pulling the stool-broken chair up close, June sat down.

"Coming with us?" said Shannon. "She's what we're escaping from. No, _that thing_ is not coming with us!"

After her first puffs, June looked at her bitten arm and began plucking hairs from it, seemingly unconcerned; then, suddenly covered the scar up quickly. Her legs kicked. Shannon noted June acted differently about smoking now, too. When they did it earlier, she had been wary of the fire hazard. She wouldn't even let Shannon have her own cigarette and wouldn't allow it near the old tarps. Now June did not care. It was certainly a fire risk, but Shannon could not stand the cold anymore. It was bad enough having to get up in the cold and use that open sewer pipe for a toilet, which June had wisely covered with the old trashcan lid.

"What are you, Shannon?" June asked.

"What?" Shannon felt her stomach tighten as the question probed her raw traumas.

June spoke double-time, "Itoldyou what I am you tell me what you are Oh you can tell me _I_ can keepasecret- can you? Befair my superiors could help you if they knew whatyouwere."

"What the _fuck_ do you mean, June?"

"Brigitte couldn't understand your scent Still can't according to reports It upset her soomuchthat she wanted to kill you Did you notice?"

The trauma of that moment, June's seeming clairvoyance, and the insane progression of the conversation caused Shannon to tremble. "Oh, I just thought she wanted to kill everyone, _except you._ Why? And how do you know about this?" cried Shannon.

June leaned forward smirking, and whispered, "There was a spy in the room an Eternal and she saved your life told Brigitte you were actually fae" June took a pull from the whiskey bottle. Her face wrinkled as though the water were vinegar.

Shannon gazed at her peculiar expression. "Who's Fay?"

"It was a clever ploy," said June. "Disinformation of course. You're not fae I've met fae and I could spot them It'slikehavinggaydar and I have it You'renotfae."

Shannon looked uncomprehending, so puzzled that she couldn't even take the puff that she wanted.

"Faerie," June added, taking a drag of her own.

Shannon took finally took her puff and then carefully, despite her mostly numb fingers and shaking hands, tipped the ashes on the concrete next to the "bed." June's words intrigued her despite their absurdity. She looked at her wrapped left hand, her finger splinted and wrapped with strips of tarp. Brigitte would have broken more bones, but something had talked her out of it then. A hallucination.

"She's crazy, and now your crazy." she said. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I don't know what the fuck she was talking about. And how do you know about this? She told you, didn't she?" Shannon's tone was accusing.

"No the Eternal told me. You're hiding something," said June.

"I am not! Are you going to break my fingers now, too?" said Shannon, outraged, steeped in those painful moments when she thought her life would end, painfully.

_Unfortunately, it didn't, _she thought.

"Do you like hockey?" asked June.

"What? Why?"

"I gotta plan ahead for every contingency Do you think Sid Crosby's the best player now?"

June's eyes looked blurred. The severely broken mind behind them evoked pity and despair in Shannon. June's legs still twitched. She tipped an ash off her cigarette onto the floor.

"Uhh, yeah," said Shannon. "I like hockey, but . . ."

"I know what's on your mind, you think I can't do this because I'm too short and my breasts are too big," said June, startling Shannon. "Yes, all anybody thinks of me I see guys look, and I know that's what they all really think, and all the girls think I'm slutty for it or they're jealous. I'm not really the slutty one in this room now, but I know you can't help it. I'm tiny but I know how to surprise they can't use _me, _they don't know me."

"June . . ." Shannon said, feeling her temper, trying to remind herself of June's insanity, and how June tried to nurse her back to health. She herself protecting June from Brigitte seemed like so long ago.

"You mean you never looked at these?" June lifted her breasts with her hands.

"Umm June, I nev . . ."

"Liar!" cried June, so loud and so abruptly that Shannon almost dropped her cigarette and set herself ablaze.

June then babbled so swiftly Shannon could not follow it. "It's all you can look at, I know it," she giggled. "I was really just joking there but I'm really a good person after all I've done, even after that laxative prank, hey, but I really felt bad about that, two years later, woo, I still feel bad. I'm here cause I can be good now with a purpose even if Angie can't forgive that orders sometimes get garbled. So I'll prove you wrong and I'll rescue Brigitte. I'm going to get us out of here, Shannon. We're going to escape. It's already been approved, the Librans have a plan and its co . . . oh, you got to promise me you'll keep that a secret."

"Of course," Shannon replied, "like I never heard it."

As much as she had come to like June, Shannon knew now she didn't have the patience for this. Her gut twisted with anger and despair. She knew, from therapy, that her emotions were extreme and unstable, and she would lose her temper. When she lost her temper, she got violent. She had broken her fingers on a girl's face the year before in a fight over a guy. When she became angry, it just all followed without her control.

From the tarp bed, Shannon looked for the box cutter, but never saw it. Because just then, the only dim light bulb in the room went out, immersing them in pitch-black darkness.

* * *

Lance stood alone behind the security desk in an impressive marble lobby, which showed its age and quaintness with a double staircase leading up to a balcony, and stained glass windows like a cathedral. In its day the design gave hospice comfort to people with an incurable disease, but now with its marble faded, the stained glass dirty and cracked, and the lights dim and dirty from a high, bare ceiling, it simply looked grim.

He spoke into the Walkie Talkie trying to raise his colleague. "Freddie? Freddie? FREDDIE!"

His voice echoed around. It took him a few moments of shouting to realize that Freddie would not hear him in the basement if he shouted louder.

The power had gone off, and though emergency power had kicked in, the head nurse in the girl's wing had complained that they still had no power, and nobody answered the phone in the boy's wing. Maintenance now also did not answer. With the generator a priority, he sent first Kurt and then Freddie and Clay down to check the breakers. Now none of them reported back.

Nervously he wiped his badge and then his forehead. _What have I stepped into?_

He reached for the phone and began to dial, before he realized: he hadn't heard a dial tone.

He he pushed the button to flash it on and off. Still no dial tone.

Dumbfounded he said into the phone "Hello? Hello . . . ?" he continued until the "hellos" echoed back, informing him further "hellos" would do no good. The Four Point area had no cellphone coverage. The doctors used satellite phones, but security had none.

_The radio in back had better work now, _he thought.

Before going back, he took out his keys, bent over, unlocked the safe, and took out one of two loaded revolvers. Before he closed the safe, he felt a sudden, intense chill. Then, a child's coughing startled him. He bolted upright and pointed the gun where he thought it had come from, by the bench to the left in front of the steps. Stunned he saw nobody there, though the deep, painful-sounding coughs continued to emanate from there and _did not echo. _

He looked around more and quickly spotted the child, a little girl doubled over by the opposite staircase, coughing, small, horribly thin, and no more than eight, her form _shadowless_.

He shot at her before he could stop himself.

The bullet missed ricocheted off the stairs and continuing to ricochet in the marble room, the echos made it sound like a gunfight. He thought, _What's wrong with me? I could have killed her!_ but even relieved, he knew he should have hit her at this range.

She didn't even flinch. Eventually, she stopped coughing and gazed up at him. Black, long hair, teary, large brown eyes, clear to him even at this distance because there were _no shadows on her features._ She had blood on her chin and lips

Then it hit him:_ Ghost! _The chill in his bones confirmed it. His jaw fell open. An absolutely beautiful child, though far too thin, and with crazed eyes, she said excited, "Me mum has finally come to visit me! She's killing everybody! Now I think she'll kill you, too."

Before Lance could respond, in the corner of his eye, he glanced at something hurtling at him, like a soccer ball or large stone. As he ducked, falling behind the counter, he also saw an animal dash on all fours down the steps. The object just missed him and ricocheted off the counter-edge and then bounced around within the cubical, coming to rest right in front of his knees. _A human head, _Emmett's head in fact, though with the face smashed and unrecognizable. Lance screamed, and found he no longer held his gun, as a large, snarling, orange-eyed hellwolf vaulted the counter. He reached into the safe, but his hand never touched the gun. He could only scream as it ripped and tore into him.

Brigitte's claws and fangs scored deeply and blood splattered all over the wall and door behind the station. No one could hear him scream now, so she hadn't bothered with stealth on this kill. The little girl, Annabelle, sat on top of the counter watching in awe.

_I want to be like mum when I grow up, _she thought.

* * *

To Shannon's relief, the light came back on. When their cigarette tips had provided the only light, the room had been as dark and suffocating as tar. June did not appear to be shaken.

"You can expect things like that in war time But of course you'll deny that it's even war time You have nothing to fear I'll protect you," said June.

Shannon took a few quick puffs of her cigarette and then snubbed it on the concrete next to the bed. The awful darkness had rattled her. Everything rattled her now. She felt an anxiety attack rising in her.  
"June, we're not even going to get of this alive," she said.

"We will There's a plan It's all being written as we speak And there's a purpose You'll see and you'll thank me."

Right then, the light then went totally out again. June's cigarette tip provided the only point of light now. Shannon's breath caught. While June, unfazed, took a last drag of her cigarette. The tip brightened like a forlorn hope, before she snubbed it on the floor.

"Oh, fuck!" Shannon cried, "I can't take this anymore!"

She cowered under the covers and wept, shaking.

June crawled over to Shannon, and touched her stiff, blood-clotted hair, which made June's caress feel- scaly. Shannon flinched, and began to sob, working up toward hysterical screaming.

"Shay," said June, her voice sweet and calming,"If life gives darkness, then sleep . . . and perchance dream."

Then to Shannon's annoyance, June began to sing. Shannon would have buried her head and covered her ears with the rough, cold canvass, but she quickly realized this voice wasn't bad, fair or just good. June's voice impressed and then awed her. In some sublime, magical language Shannon had ever heard, June sang soprano, and seemed to modulate her tone and pitch in harmony with the sound of the wind, using it as though she were really playing it in accompaniment. Then, her sweet voice performed a miracle with Shannon's mind, as the forbidding darkness now made her feel sheltered and safe. It dispelled Brigitte, along with ghosts, along with any merely imagined horrors, from Shannon's mind. She felt she were back home, and it even transformed home into the safe harbor against the world that it always should have been. The cold, moldy heap she lay in felt like her cozy bed, and her mother, the good one, nourished and nursed her painful, cold body, singing to her like a fairy-godmother.

June had nothing less than the clearest, purest, most expressive- perfect singing voice she had ever heard. She wondered in the blinding darkness if it were really June singing and not an angel sent to rescue them.

Shannon blurted out, "What are _you?_"

She could hear laughter, and June answered in a voice that did not sound manic at all, "I was going to major in music, until a few years ago, but . . . that didn't work out." she sighed. "It's medieval Norwegian. 'Gjendine's Lullaby.'"

June could hear Shannon's shaking head rustling against the tarps. "You should be lead singer in a fucking band! I'd pay to hear you."

June laughed again. "That sounds like a call for an encore."

She began to sing it again, as Shannon forgot her pain. June's voice massaged and soaked through her, bringing heat to her bones. _My, This girl is full of surprises, _she thought. When the lyrics ran out, she began to improvise with her own syllables, keeping the tempo and tone while she tried to keep it as harmonious with the wind possible. She knew Shannon did not care what it meant anyway, and her knowing would only break the spell. In a short while, June's voice immersed Shannon in dreams of light, serenity and warmth, forgetting her nightmares, living or dreamt.

As sometimes happens with mania, June performed way over her head. She continued to sing, free of the paranoia she had felt for Shannon, as one insanity had superseded the other. Now she knew they must break out of here, or Shay would die, but she also had to wait for the orders. Was it even daybreak yet?

As she sang, just out of her sight but within hearing, some ghosts were also impressed . . . and calmed temporarily. They had taken notice of her, second to Brigitte.

* * *

Laura stood behind the nurse's counter, waiting for the call from security. Tom, a med tech, stood on the other side. The lights had failed; for some reason, the generators had not cut in as they should have, and now only the red emergency lights saved them from pitch blackness. In the hallway to Laura's left, the lights did not operate, except one which flickered inadequately. Besides the power, far more had already gone wrong. The boys wing did not answer the phone, neither did maintenance.

"Do we have heat without power?" asked Laura.

"No," said Tom.

"Oh, we're so screwed here," she said.

From outside, they heard a howl, chilling in a way distinctly unlike the wind. They exchanged frightened glances. Both could see that neither of them had ever heard anything like it before. It was muffled through the walls, of course, but it still sounded far too powerful to be a dog, and too elaborate in its pitch and tone to be a wolf.

"Yeah, the wolf at the door," Tom said, with nervous humor.

"Where's Terry?" She looked up and down the dark halls both ways, now very worried. "He was doing the rounds, and was down there," she said, pointing to the left down the dark hall.

Tom knew that he could hardly call down that way without waking the patients. He dreaded walking down there in these circumstances so he merely stayed still.

"He should be up here in a few minutes," he said, stalling.

"He should be up here already!" she said. "That's it! I'm calling the doctor!"

Laura picked up the phone, but when she brought the receiver to her ear, she froze.

"Tom?" she said.

"What?"

"There's no dial tone!"

"No, you've got to be kidding!" he said.

"No, I'm not! Hello? Hello?" She clicked the button on and off. "Hello? It's dead!"

"Oh, what the fuck is going on here?" he asked.

The situation raised their paranoia toward apprehension and dread. Swiftly she hung up, sat on the counter, and vaulted it. She gauged his fear, noting he didn't even glance at her skirted legs, when normally he would make quick glances. "You go up and get Terry," she said. "We have to wake the patients."

"Wake them, for what?"

"Go up and find him," she ordered.

Tom looked up into the dark hall and said, "I'm not going up there. You go." He suddenly felt a chill and some dizziness, in fact, they both felt it, but it was so ethereal that in her anger, she hardly noticed.

"You coward!" she said contemptuously. "Okay, I'll go, you stay here and be safe. Maybe you should just lock yourself the padded room. You want me to check for you and make sure there aren't any monsters there?"

"Will you two get your friend out of my room before he moves in?" said an indignant male voice in an accent that sounded so British.

It came from the lounge; a figure stood in front of the door. Even in the dim light they could see it clearly, for it lacked any shadows on its form, though it appeared in no way luminous on its own. The male figure wore a Victorian-style nightshirt that would be pure white except for the large, bright-red fresh blood spot that covered his chest. They both recognized it as arterial blood. Only June would have known him: Bobby, but now his eyes looked crazed and insane.

They both exchanged incredulous, frightened glances, both thinking, _Ghost!_

Just then they heard a low growl coming from the darkness down the hall. They looked that way momentarily as the ghost said, peeved, "She killed him in my room! That was just rude!" Then it vomited bright blood onto the floor, just as a beast began to emerge from the dark hallway, walking on all fours. Growling. It's eyes glowed bright orange, and as it moved, they could see a tail waving in its wake.

Tom pulled out a pocket knife, not a small one at all, and he cried out to Laura, "Run!"

Laura ran three strides, but stopped and turned, not wanting to leave him. The creature suddenly reared up on two legs, and walked forward now with a swinging gait. It's body suddenly looked womanlike, even though it's head and legs were wrong, and its growling voice said, "So brave! You weren't such a gentlemen with Shannon!"

Tom's knife clanked on the floor, and he ran past Laura, who then bolted, too.

They turned right to avoid the cul du sac. Brigitte started too quick on the polished floor, her toes and claws couldn't find the traction; she slipped and fell, but her arms propelled her back to her feet immediately. She started again and cursed in frustration, as the lack of traction limited her speed, even on all fours. She overtook Laura, who screamed, but Brigitte merely knocked her aside. Laura hit the wall and fell. Brigitte went for Tom, caught him, and as he screamed, she reached around and swiped his neck repeatedly to silence him. With a hard, severing blow to his lower spine, she paralyzed him, and then her claw stabbed into his diaphragm. She let him fall, still conscious, writhing and suffocating to death.

"Fucking gutless creep!" she growled down at him.

Meanwhile, Laura heard the claws swiping and the crack of Tom's spine. With a werewolf ahead of her and a ghost looming up behind her, she dashed into the door to the custodial room, the very one that Brigitte had taken the previous night to catch Will and Shannon together. She crossed the room for the door on the other side, and used her key to open it, not that she knew where it would lead, but she did not have a choice. The door opened into pitch blackness, and swallowed and entered. In her panic, she left her key in the door knob.

Covered with blood, Brigitte loomed over him licking her claws as his eyes bulged and then faded to glassy-blank. It felt so perfect. Watching him struggle and then fade away, she felt intense pleasure, but more than merely that, she felt triumph. Finally her life felt right. Unlike what happened with Ginger, this time all of her plans went perfectly. She felt her intelligence now vindicated.

Brigitte arrived in the custodial room at her leisure. It did not matter what Laura or any patient did anymore. She was the only night staffer left, she had no weapons, and Four Point was cut off from the outside world. Brigitte slammed the door knowing Laura would hear it, no longer bothering with stealth. She turned the key to lock it, and then took the keys. She possessed every key in this place now. Her coup complete, she no longer had to be wary on her own turf. Within Four Point, she controlled everything and everyone as though it were her very world, her very own dream.

When she emerged into the hall, she saw the ghost, Bobby, the one from June's room, or so she had been told. She did not understand why the ghosts were visible now, or why they were almost worshipful of her, but it added to all her joy. She felt like the destroyer of the living and queen of the dead.

He appropriately got on his knees to her and begged, "Milady, please, I beseech you, please remove him from my room. If he comes back, he'll try to haunt it."

Brigitte thought to herself that in her haste, she had been a little sloppy. She did need to tidy things up.

"I think I know just the place to put him," she said and walked with the spirit down toward June's former room. Strange how none of the patients had awakened, but it occurred to her that they were all drugged on their evening medications. She remembered how that had been. Either that or they had heard it and were cowering. She sniffed, and thought she smelled a trace of fear.

Outside Jason howled above the wind; she understood his words:

_ At dusk, you're ass is mine, BEE! _

She tensed. Then an odd revelation hit her. _This is exactly what he used to do in gym class! _

It made her feel nauseated then, and much more so , things were not quite perfect, but at least this time his leering taunts no longer made her shrink and cry.

_ I'm no longer afraid of you, Jason!_

In her arrogant triumph, she did not suspect that her lack of tears might not be due to having greater emotional strength.


	23. Returns

**Chapter 23:**

RETURNS

June sat on the stool smoking, waiting in the dark, her whole body now taut with anticipation. It had been hours since she put Shannon to sleep. Outside, above the sounds of the wind, she heard artillery, and howls- she knew they were Jason's howls. He guarded the prison.

_What happened to the courier?_ June knew almost nothing went right in a battle zone, and the messenger might have gotten lost. Still, Shannon worsened and June she needed to get to someplace warm, as quickly as possible. To June's frustration, she had to wait for her orders. Only the council had the necessary overview on it.

She lit another cigarette, listening to fast guitar rifts and singing along, her legs kicking, but to no particular rhythm now. Finally, the Eternals had piped some good music to her; her weariness with the atonal, arrhythmic tuning-up noises had reached its limit.

Suddenly, the the light in the room went on, flashed a few times and stayed. Dazzled, June blinked and looked around at the same dingy room. Except now a dot moved in the corner of her eye. When she looked right at it, she saw a large, flying insect, about as long as her little finger down to the second knuckle. It flew slowly and clumsily- a cicada. The courier!

June stood up in excitement. When she stood, it changed course and buzzed toward her, finally landing on the stool, its brown, expressionless, fly-like eyes at the top of its head looking at her. Then it buzzed, one short, two long, two short- the correct recognition phrase.

June recited her recognition phrase to it. "Old longings, nomadic leap/ Chafing at customs' chain/ Again from its brumal sleep/ Wakens the ferine strain."

It buzzed three times, and she answered, "Welcome." She knelt down and whispered to it, "You have the message?"

At its feet, a pure white spot formed and began to grow. It grew into an oblong- an envelope. As it did, the cicada dried up, and became an empty shell. Its brown eyes turning gray. She picked up the shell and whispered to it, reverently, "My thanks and blessings to you, may the Eternals favor your spirit!" and she crumbled the dry exoskeleton to dust.

She picked up the envelope, stood up, opened it, took out the message and read it as she paced the room, smoking. Her expression became surprised and pleased. She puffed on her cigarette a final time, and then snubbed it against the wall. Putting the message back in the envelope, she then crumbled and ate it. It tasted so sweet to her. By eating it, she memorized the exact words of the orders indelibly, and every word, every letter of these orders were paramount.

She hurried back to the bed and woke Shannon, who looked at her listlessly. Her pallid appearance and blue lips stunned June momentarily. "Oh, I gottaget you warmed and fed quick I got good news!" June prattled, in run-on words.

"The light's back on," said Shannon.

"Yes, and something else!" June shouted, her speech still as rapid as before. "The plan is complete! You have to help me do something before we bust outta here."

"Oh," said Shannon, apathetically. "I'm not up to anything."

June had already strode to her backpack and threw things out of it one after another. "Here, eat," she said, tossing Shannon two granola bars, which hit her in the chest. June spoke in run-on sentences again. "No wussing out What we do next is essential to the whole purpose You have to helpmewithit!"

She then grabbed the trashcan full of water next to "bed" and dragged it toward the sink

"Ah, okay, what is it?" asked Shannon, actually curious, hoping this wasn't going to be as preposterous as this build-up suggested.

"_You _have to help me raise Ginger."

For a second, there was only the roar of the cold wind outside.

"Umm . . . isn't it, like, out of season?"

* * *

Laura had heard the door slam, and the keys being withdrawn, telling her that there would be no pursuit. She sat on the cold floor in total darkness, her arm broken and painful. She had fallen down the steps, which miraculously, didn't injure it further. Besides the physical pain, she tried to cope with the shocks tonight, wrestling with the reality shift entailed by discovering the existence of both ghosts and . . .

_ . . . was that really a werewolf?_

The howl had been merely a hint, but its appearance and speech had obliterated any skepticism she could marshal. She had to do something, but what? It needed only one blow to demolish her arm. She had seen how fast it moved, how swiftly it maimed and killed Tom. With that speed and strength, no way could she have fought it. Now it apparently had free reign over the patients. She had to get help.

_I must get to my car, _she thought. At Dr. Gadepalli's orders, the staff had found an opening had been made into the abandoned sections from this room. If Brigitte and the rest escaped this way, maybe it led to an exit.

She could hardly get to her feet without her arms and then could hardly keep her balance. The young nurse first decided to see if the lights in here might work. Very carefully she sneaked back up the steps. When she let go of her broken arm to grope for a light switch, she cried out and nearly fainted from the pain. Instead, she ended up searching for it mostly with the shoulder of her good arm. She found the switch and flipped it. As she feared, nothing happened. Feeling dizzy and sweaty, she had to sit down, and then lay down. She elevated her legs using the rail.

_Treat for shock. _

Asshe tried tensing her abdominal and leg muscles in an effort to raise her blood pressure, the darkness seemed to sing with a lovely, hypnotic soprano voice. It came out of the darkness, distant and muffled. Or perhaps it came from her own head. It stopped. She seemed to awaken when it did. No longer dizzy and sweating, she had no idea how long she rested there.

She sat up, careful to use neither of her arms. Suddenly, she again felt the exact moment her arm had been broken. She screamed, her voice echoed in the room as the flashback dissipated. Calming herself and hoping she did not have to lay down again, she thought randomly of how Violet Kramer's elbow had been mysteriously shattered the other day. A few more jumps in her thinking ended with . . .

"Brigitte!" she cried aloud with a start. _That _was _Brigitte in the hall!_

Her voice echoed sounding distinctly male, saying "Brigitte," but actually sounding like it probably said "Yes, Brigitte."

Looking through the rail, the nurse noticed then that the pitch black room no longer appeared completely dark, but not because her eyes had adjusted. Only one thing had now become visible in the whole room: a large puddle on the floor. Laura looked for the light source, something that might be reflecting from it, but unyielding darkness covered everything else.

She thought, if_ Brigitte is the werewolf, what happened to Will and Shannon?_

She stared at the puddle, or pool, still the only thing visible in the room, when it literally beckoned her.

"Laura! Laura! Come down here," said a soft, creepy male voice, emanating from it.

As though she needed any more reason to stay as far away from it as possible.

* * *

"No way I'm having anything to do with this!" declared Shannon.

"Please Shay, you have to help. I'm not strong enough to do this on my own," said June.

"Like I have any strength now, anyway?" said Shannon.

She had a point. Even after June forced Shannon to eat, and used hot water to try to warm her again, the battered girl still looked pale and sick. Her eyes were glazed, and while her lips were no longer blue, they weren't any healthy color either. It wouldn't help that June disassembled the "bed," taking the plywood on the blocks out it for a makeshift altar. In fact, until the ritual was over, Shannon, hypothermic and injured, could only lay on the folded over old rug directly on the floor. Even with the rug, Shannon decided it was too cold, and she now sat in obvious pain on a two cinder blocks, shivering, and wrapped up to her neck in tarp, her feet wrapped in carpet.

She glared at the "altar" June had improvised. The bird-skull necklaces lay on top of it. June had formed their beads into perfect overlapping ellipses, almost like a Venn diagram with the affronting bird-skulls at the center, all according to the plan stamped in her head.

"I'm not touching those things!" Shannon declared.

"Shay, please! It won't not work unless you at least proxy . . . " said June.

"No," she said resolutely, her head craning from the tarps. "Look at those! This is evil!"

_ First a werewolf, then a ghost, now a crazy girl who thinks she's a witch, _Shannon thought, remembering this all happened to her just in the last day. To her, June's intent was too bizarre to be anything good.

To June, Shannon just didn't understand, and how could she explain to her how raising the dead wasn't evil in every circumstance, and how this was necessary if they were ever to escape? She couldn't do the latter, under her orders; the information was secret. The necklaces _did_ look evil.

Besides the difficulty presented by Shannon's refusal to help, June presumed herself to be lacking every necessary item for a ritual like this. For a boline, all she had was a rusty box-cutter. She didn't even have a candle. The council's incantation formula had better have taken this into account.

Now, June just had to press forward without Shannon's help. From what she understood, this would be risky. She might not possess enough energy for it.

"At least promise me, please, that you won't interfere?" said June.

Shannon sneered, "Like I can? No, go ahead. Knock yourself out!" She sniffled. Despite herself, Shannon felt exhausted curiosity. She wondered if this crazy girl actually had any idea on how to do magic, much less something so adept. June claimed she had never dabbled in it, but given her affinity with Brigitte, Shannon now could not believe her.

June knew she would just have to work against Shannon's negative energy, which might just be a negligible problem. "Good, thank you, Shay."

Opposite to the sink, facing toward Shannon, she knelt behind the altar. She blew into her hands and clenched and flexed her fingers to try to warm and energize them. Humming different notes, she then sang through various scales, major, then minor, then augmented scales to warm up her voice and tone judgment. To Shannon, this tuning up seemed like stalling. Then, June synchronized her voice harmoniously to the howl of the wind, a sound that warmed Shannon's spine as it had earlier.

Then June chanted something in an unknown language and spread her hands over the altar, widening the arms.

She opened her eyes and sighed.

Shannon said, "Was that it?"

June laughed. "No, just blessed the altar."

"Hope it helps," said Shannon, sarcastically.

Flipping her unruly hair out of her face, June sighed deeply, smiled to Shannon and said, "Here it goes . . ."

She closed her eyes and went silent. She thought of a rhythm _e, e, e, ah_, _e, e, e, ah_. . . then she added more complexity to it. She pictured Ginger, pictured her as detailed as she could, including the claws and fangs as they had been when they first met. As she hummed long steady tones, Brigitte's picture also appeared in her mind, but not the Brigitte that June had met. In fact, this Brigitte looked fully human and much younger, but June still focused on Ginger. Brigitte's picture receded into the background where it stayed throughout the ritual. June's mind then touched the picture of Ginger, and with some mental reaching felt she touched the person, and then nudged her. She shivered but kept her voice on pitch. When she touched Ginger, she touched ice.

Shannon heard June's humming, one note then another. Somehow they all resonated harmoniously with the wind, the only other sound in the room, but atonal with each other. As Shannon began to wonder if the whole ritual would be so innocuous, June began to sing. The hums became syllables, first only long, slowly changing vowels, flowing out and in to various pitches and tones, then vowels with consonants. Shannon thought they were only sounds, like slow scat singing, and here she could not help but marvel again at what a beautiful, powerful singing voice this girl had.

June pronounced the exact syllables she remembered in her instructions, not knowing if she pronounced words of a language or not. She did have to make sounds unfamiliar to any language she knew, and could not know if she did it right, but her tongue, teeth, mouth and larynx followed their instructions as best they could.

Done with prelude, she opened her eyes and, keeping her fingers in an exact elliptical position, she touched each skull with her little fingers, and started more incantation syllables. Afterward, she paused and touched the one on her right hand side with her middle finger. This one, Ginger's, had the yellow beads, and June began to stroke it chanting Ginger's name, calling her. For Brigitte's on the left, which had the brown beads, she simply touched it lightly with her index finger, hand arched.

Her right hand was feeling cold. June began the incantations directed at Ginger:

"/Ginger: hear my words in your deepest, deadest dreams/

"/Ginger: hear my words move your broken, lifeless heart/

"/Ginger: hear my words chafe your frozen, rigid soul./"

To Shannon's astonishment, the skull beneath June's finger seemed to be glowing. June then switched her hand position, again according to exact instructions, touching both skulls with her ring fingers, and chanting in the unknown language. She abruptly switched back into English, chanting at first, and then fully singing:

"/Purpose unfinished you were vanquished,/

"/Sins upon your sister, unatoned./

"/The beast that consumed you devours her,/

"/Death cannot imprison you to know./

"/As my living command empowers dead desires/

"/Grasp the bond with her now- and fast hold./

"/Be now together forever . . . or forever- alone./"

Shannon held her breath. _When did she rehearse that?_

It no longer seemed to be June's voice at all, but that of the wind and sea, earth and mist. Shannon could swear at the end she heard other voices singing in accompaniment, but she could not take her eyes off the tiny, powerful girl kneeling behind the improvised altar.

_Shit, this is for real . . . too! _Thought Shannon, frozen with fear. She realized with apprehension, she did not know exactly what June was doing. She had no idea who or what Ginger actually was, having thought knowing would never be necessary. Shannon might have panicked, but at this point she thought interrupting this ritual might be even scarier.

June sang in the unknown language, as she picked up the box-cutter. Gritting her teeth as she cut her left palm, she then took the cutter in that hand and wounded her right palm, too. Wavering momentarily, almost swooning, she then girded herself, reacquired the tone and rhythm and continued. She squeezed her fingers into her palms in a pumping motion above the skulls, and blood dripped from each hand on to the respective skull. Then she crossed her hands over the skulls and did the same with the opposite hands chanting:

"/With my blood, I join the bond./

"/With my blood, I mend the bond,/

"/The bond one will can never break./"

"/With my will, the bond be strengthened./

"/Stronger than the hold of death/"

"/To your soul, Ginger, our sister,/

"/Grasp the bond now and hold fast!/"

The light flickered. Seemingly in answer, the skull under her right hand pulsed. Shannon gasped and held her breath without knowing it. June picked up the necklaces and held them above her head. Both skulls were plainly glowing white now and the blood on them glowed red, looking dangerous to Shannon. June put them around her neck, looking ecstatic and exalted. Her eyes suddenly went blank and she sang more in the unknown language again. She worked up from the trance into a frightful rapture. Her arms and body shook. Shannon noticed now a mist arose from the altar, and flowed up around June's shoulders. Only then did Shannon realize that they were not alone. In terror, she saw that ghosts had joined in the ritual_._ She saw five figures gathered around them. Three female, two male. Four had blood on them, and all except the old man looked consumptive. Unlike the transparent spirit she had seen earlier, these looked solid. In rapt attention, two of them just watched June, who suddenly switched back into the open-eyed trance, but three of them sang along with her obediently, seemingly totally familiar with the exotic lyrics. Now the light flickered, again. The skulls glowed in the dark.

_No!_ _Is this actually going to work? _Thought Shannon.

In the cold room, June sweated. She blinked again and abruptly switched back to English, but in rapture now, shaking and panting, the rhythm had all but fallen apart. She cried out, in swift staccato:

/Ginger! From death move toward my heart./

/All its strength be yours./

/My will compels you. The bond compels you,/

/Grasp the eternal bond/

/Pull yourself from the grave./

/Let not despair weaken you/

/May my strength bring you . . ./

The sorceress stopped, panting, foam had formed around her mouth, her whole body went rigid her fists clenched, and she said hoarsely:

"/Grasp the bond and . . . fast hold . . ./"

Then she cried out as the light flickered like a stobe. She stood up, her eyes and hair frightfully wild. Shannon could not see how she possibly could have stood up from her knees in that snap motion. Her body went so taut, that the tiny girl's joints all popped audibly. Then her body shouted a chant in an _alto _voice utterly unlike June's, a call so loud Shannon covered her ears.\ All the ghosts now joined in unison, ending it with a scream. When it ended June went limp and fell forward into the the altar, which came apart under her slack body. The light went completely out and all became quiet, even the wind seemed to be momentarily silenced.

Too amazed to notice her terror, Shannon called out. "June?"

Only the wind and a smell of death and decay answered her for at least thirty seconds, then, to Shannon's relief, the light came back on.

June was unconscious, where she had fallen, lying prone on the plywood, the stool upended. A mist hung over her.

Shannon crawled up to her. "June? June?"

Shivering in the cold air, Shannon reached her and turned her over. June's face was bruised, her nose bled. The mist hung before them. Shannon noticed an orange color swirling within it. Had June been burning anything? Shannon only glanced at it and turned her attention back to June, who did not respond to light shaking, and Shannon could not tell yet if she even breathed, yet. "June!"

"June?" said a thin, whispered, girl's voice from the air above them. Shannon looked toward it. No longer was it just mist. Now it had molded itself into a human figure who gazed at them with transparent blue-green eyes.

"Is she alive?" it asked softly. "Please tell me she's alive!"

Shannon looked at it shocked. _You're asking _me_ this? _

"Ah-h, um, well . . .. it's not like _she's_ a ghost."

* * *

Leaving the voice unanswered, Laura had managed to improvise a partial sling using her bra, the very best she could do in the dark using only her teeth and right hand. At least now she needn't support it constantly with her good arm. It did not appear to be bloody, nor did the skin appear to be broken around the most painful area, though she could hardly touch it without shrieking and needed to see it. Unfortunately, her other arm ached. Either the fall down the steps had bruised it, or she suffered deferred pain there. No way she could probe it to find out.

With more than enough time for her eyes to adjust, the darkness had not improved. The only way she dared the steps was scooting down while sitting. At the bottom, she shivered as her good hand momentarily touched something soft, which then yielded and disappeared, puzzling her. Now she sat on the second from lowest step, her back to the puddle. The voice continued calling her, which continued to keep her as far away as possible, despite her curiosity.

"Laura!"

This time it was no longer mysterious; she finally recognized it, and wondered why she hadn't prior. "Will?" she cried out with a start.

Suddenly the voice neither sounded haunting nor creepy, but familiar. "Laura, please help me. I'm hurt."

"Will, I'm sorry! Did she attack you, too?"

"I think," he gasped painfully.

She stood up with great difficulty, and teetered, having to lean her back against the wall to keep her feet. She could see the entire puddle clearly. Her view wasn't even slightly obstructed.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Over here," he said.

She couldn't restrain herself from saying, "Oh, that's helpful!"

It seemed like his voice came right from the puddle, though she could not see him there, and in fact, still could not see anything else in the room. Though her eyes must have long adjusted, the room was still as dark as ever. She tripped shrieking over something metal that made a ringing sound. Stumbling, the nurse fell banging her face and bad arm into a heavy piece of furniture. She screamed and screamed, absolutely helpless with pain for minutes.

As the pain lessened enough to allow her to think again, she cried "Oh, Jesus! God!" She sat up.

"Sorry, watch the debris. There's a lot of it."

"Oh, ah, you idiot! A little late I think! I have a broken arm!" she cried. "I'll be no help if I die getting to you."

"I didn't think it wouldn't be a problem," he said, as though it were a punchline.

After the pain became manageable she sat leaning against the object she had fallen into. To her astonishment, her cheek lay against it, but _it did not obstruct her view of the puddle._

She put the sling back into place, and again struggled to stand. Much closer to the pool, she looked directly toward it. With her good arm, she passed her hand in front of her face before she had to grasp her bad arm to support it again. By what her eyes had seen, nothing at all had passed between them and the puddle. Then she put her hand directly in front of them. She could not see her hand at all, and it still did not obstruct her view of the puddle.

Mystified almost to trance, she shuffled her way through the debris and junk without falling again and reached the edge of the pool. It seemed to be lit normally, except no light source reflected from it. Murky with blood, it appeared to be no more than an inch deep, and even more odd, she could see her reflection in it.

She had had enough. "Will, I don't see you. Where are you? Tell me what's really going on here!"

The pool went cloudy with blood and something floated to the surface. Will's head and chest emerged; completely dry, but blood stained. He sat up and said, "I am so happy you're here, Laura! But I didn't lie. She did attack me, see?"

He looked too solid to be a ghost, until Laura remembered the apparition beside the lounge. No way could Will be alive with those slashes on his throat and chin. His head lolled around on his, apparently broken, neck. His eyes looked glazed, but somehow still alive.

She began to swoon, staggered, but did not fall.

"What happened?" she finally gasped.

He arose completely from the puddle, and Laura saw that his entire body beneath his upper abdomen was gone, ripped crudely away, from beneath the rib cage. Torn organs and tissue dangled in bloody scraps beneath, though his mid-upper abdomen also remained. The part of him present levitated in mid-air above the puddle, his spine wagging beneath.

His head rolled forward, looking down at his missing half, and rolled up again to make eye contact, and he said, "Man! Did I fuck up!"

She felt herself starting to cry. She had known Will, worked with him for over a year, and this was something far worse for her than merely having to identify his body at the morgue.

"Yes, she got me worse than she got you," he continued. "A little. Some mangy bitch, isn't she? Oh, you should've seen what she made that poor Shannon do." Putting his hands under his rib cage, he took a deep rattling "breath." Or perhaps he just made a deep breathing sound. Why he bothered Laura did not know.

"Shannon? What happened to Shannon?" Laura asked, partially recovering.

"She went with Brigitte. Oh, man, I'm sorry we all pulled the wool over your eyes about Shannon."

"Pulled the . . . ? What?"

"I'm curious," said the apparition, putting his forefinger up and waving his spine back and forth like a tail. "You could come clean now. Were you really willfully ignorant, or just that . . .hmm, innocent about it?"

"About what?" she said, too numbed and bewildered now to connect any dots.

"Hey, the game's over. You don't have to keep up the act now," it said.

Its rattling breath and spine distracted Laura. She didn't say anything, but took a moment to try to wake up from this nightmare, closing her eyes and struggling to turn herself over in bed. No bed presented itself.

"Hey, I guess you weren't acting! You were that innocent!" it said, taking a "step" closer, now hovering about four feet away.

She looked for strings on this freak, but couldn't see any. The nurse could hear too vividly the bones rattle on its severed spine. She backed off a step and stumbled on something.

It laughed; its spine rattled more. It said "Ow!"

"Weren't acting about what?" she asked, beginning to panic.

"Ouch! I don't believe it," it said putting its hands under its ribs and adjusting something in its undercarriage. "It hurts when I laugh! What a clichéd irritation to be stuck with for eternity." It looked back at her. "I'll be! You weren't even suspicious. Shannon, you know, was like, a borderline personality. If she ever thought a guy was interested she would put out in a snap."

"Put out?" said Laura shocked. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, you know, like . . . have sex?" it said, sarcastically. "Then she'd get suicidal and blackmailing if you weren't interested. So, there were three of us guys who were banging her on the night shift. All consensual . . ."

"What?" Laura shouted, her outrage winning out over fear. "Consensual? She was our patient! She was only sixteen!"

"Ha! I see you really were naïve. It was going on every night around you, Laurie."

She hated that name variant. Will continued, "you were so easy to distract. I never realized it was because you were too uptight for your mind to even imagine, but you know, you should have watched the males on your shift a lot closer."

"Me?" Laura now knew this was a dream. A guy she had supervised blamed her for allowing him to molest a patient!

"That's constructive criticism. Course, it doesn't do you much good now."

She could not imagine guys working around her doing anything like this. It did shock her more than anything else that had happened that night.

"We didn't have a lot of choice," it pleaded. "First, she would get all suicidal, and then she would threaten to turn us in. I mean, she threatened Tom, and he hadn't even done anything, yet."

"No! I'm imagining this!" she cried, backing off.

It laughed hard, then cried out, "Oh, shit that hurts," putting its hands under its ribs and adjusting it's entrails again. "No, you're not imagining. Remember Dr. G wanting to transfer her to that program in Toronto? He suspected it, but he was, like, willfully ignorant. _He_ knew she was hard to handle."

She turned needing to get away, but tripped. Before she could fall in a way that would have surely displaced her arm, something with cold hands, hands which seemed to directly touch even her skin through her clothes, caught her around the waist and stopped her. It was the apparition. She screamed, gasping and turned to it.

"Don't you touch me again!" she screamed, shocked that it could. _If it can touch me it can do __much worse! _She thought.

It levitated back way from her. "What's wrong, did I hurt you? I saved you from falling and hurting your arm again."

She wouldn't answer it. Felt she didn't owe it an answer.

"You're really ungrateful," it called after her.

She turned and suppressed panic just enough to amble carefully, groping with her feet and legs, hoping it couldn't follow her away from the pool. Unfortunately, not only could it, but it wasn't impaired by the junk. It had gone completely around her and faced her again.

"Just relax. After a little while it gets better. You won't have to stumble around in here."

"I'm having a nightmare," she mumbled; she went by it, continuing toward the steps.

It hovered easily beside her, like a balloon attached to her wrist. It laughed. "Ouch! No. You're right. This is a dream, but it's really _my_ dream, and Laurie, honey, until you arrived, this was a wet dream that turned into nightmare after nightmare. I'm so happy to see you. Your coming here finally changes the mood of my nightmare. This is more like it."

She went by it again. She didn't know where she could go to get away from it now, but she had to get away or wake up. There was a door in here to the old wings, wasn't there? She had to find it.

It had floated front of her again, too close. It's spine rattled back and forth like an agitated cat's, and like the pool, the apparition had no shadows on it. At this range, it smelled like an autopsy.

_Where did I get this imagination from? _She wondered.

Then, she reached the wall and arrived at the edge of hysteria. She turned; it hovered back and forth in front of her. Where could she go?

"You know, everyone on the night shift would talk about banging you."

"You shut the fuck up you pervert!" she cried.

"Me being trapped with you! I couldn't come up with a better dream. Things really su . . . I mean, this has been fucking awful up until now."

It moved closer. The passionate look in its eyes caused her to gag. She backed against the wall.

"The bitch killed me on the edge." It's spine then snapped forward toward her. The suggestion was obvious, and demolished what little composure she had left. It closed and groped her breasts. She slapped it away with her one good arm, but it persisted. Its hands were both vivid and cold, the icy chill on her nipples went right to her spine. She shrieked.

"OH GOD HELP ME!" she cried, in both panic and prayer.

Right then the lights went back on and dazzled both of them. Blind, she managed to grab him and fling him away, not yet surprised that she used her bad arm. Covering her eyes with both hands, she tried to run, but stumbled on something an fell to her knees. She tried to open her eyes as quickly as possible, but the lights were oppressively bright.

He cried too. "Fuck! Shit! I can't see!"

Finally, Laura's vision began to recover, and on her knees next to the steps, the first thing she saw was . . . herself.

She lay halfway at the bottom of the steps, her head against the stair-post, blond hair splayed aura-like around the upper-side of the head and bloody on the lower side, with the neck at a bad angle. Her corpse's eyes stared up vacantly, unresponsive and quite dead, similar to but not the same as Will's.

She screamed, and screamed again, stood up and backed away.

Will's head looked at her, turned lolling to look at her corpse, and then back at her, his hand trying to shade his squinting eyes, which didn't really shade; he blinked at her stunned.

"You mean you didn't _know?_" He laughed, said ouch. "You didn't _know?_" He laughed more, said ouch, laughed some more cried out in pain. "Oh, I'm sorry Laura."

She screamed more while he alternately laughed and cried out in pain. He continued, "If I had known you didn't, please believe me, I would have never hit you with all that. Or hit on you . . . really. I'm sorry. I mean it."

Utterly shattered, all she could only scream and cry, while he continued to laugh painfully more and more. His truncated half floated to the floor like it was a piece of paper. "Fuck . . . I'm . . . I'm . . . so sorry." As he reached the floor, he lay on his back still laughing helplessly, but sounded like torment was overtaking glee.

Laura stood up, her arms no longer an impairment, and ran straight toward the only opening she could see in the room. She moved incredibly fast, and it seemed the junk was no impediment to her either.

Helpless in laughter and pain, he pleaded to her. "No . . . Laura . . . please stay! I'm sorry!"

_Not in a thousand years!_ She thought.

* * *

June awakened with her head on Shannon's shivering thigh. She remembered nothing from the very start of the ritual, could not even remember a word of the incantations. Covered under tarps, she felt so exhausted, cold and sore in every joint.

Shannon smoked, an overwhelmed, astonished expression on her pallid face.

"What's wrong, Shay?" June whispered.

"I just saw a fucking red-headed ghost."

* * *

_**A/N:** Yes, Ginger is back. The story gets to be more about the sisters again, this entire disaster is occurring because of their unresolved problems. The fanfic site isn't the best for formatting verse, but I did my best, and I hope it isn't too distracting to the readers as it appears here. _


	24. The Pack

**Chapter 24:**

THE PACK

"Did she say anything?" June tried to sit up then, but gave up for the moment.

"Who was _she?_" demanded Shannon, even with her voice exhausted and winded. "June, what the fuck is really going on here?"

"She's Ginger."

"No shit. I already put that together."

"What did she say?" asked June, she grunted, tried to sit again and this time succeeded.

Shannon looked frustrated. "She asked if you were alive, and I found out you were. She said she was cold and weak. No kidding! She wasn't wearing anything but a fucking hair bra. Said to tell you thanks and that she'll try to watch Brigitte till she gets stronger. She then closed her eyes and faded, faded back in, said something like, 'Fuck, try that again,' closed her eyes and faded again, this time totally out."

June was appalled. "She said nothing else?"

"No!"

"Nothing else?"

"Fuck, no!"

"Damn. I needed information," said June, who hoped that Ginger had learned the specific purpose in the meantime.

She let herself collapse on her side. "Maybe she'll return later. Shay, I'm so tired!" June's muscles and joints all hurt, and cuts on her hands stung, which might put a serious crimp in the escape, at least as the council had it planned.

_I hope they're on the ball!_

"Could you put the bed back together?" said Shannon, shivering weakly. "This floor is too fucking cold, and, I don't know if I can stand up anymore."

"Ugggh," said June hating any idea of exertion now. "Okay."

"Please, June, do it . . . for me, and tell me what's going on now. Like, who is Ginger?"

June didn't know if she could. Much of that information was on a need-to-know-when-you-need-to-know basis. She tried to think of cover stories quick, despite her fatigue.

"Okay, but first, could you tell me what I did?" asked June, groaning as she got painfully to her feet.

Shannon blinked at her.

"I don't remember," June explained.

* * *

"Hello, James!" gushed a familiar female voice.

"I haven't moved!" James cried, rasping, the voice awakening him. In fact, "Brigitte" needn't have warned him; he had been too tired to try. He then realized with relief that this voice had none of the rasps or lisps of the creature that maimed him and left him to die. Having seen it close, James had no problem believing it had been a werewolf.

_ Brigitte! It called itself Brigitte! _

In contrast, this voice sounded totally human, but now it answered him, laughing, "It looks like Max is really out of it. Ahh, what happened?"

Its Bugs-Bunny tone forewarned him of a surprise worse even _anything so far._ He tried to look up, but could not lift his head far enough to see anything beyond her shoe and pants cuff. The shoe, a standard psych-ward-issue Velcro-laced tennis shoe, had a blotch of blood on its toe. His vision blurred, he couldn't see the pant-cuff very clearly.

_How long have I been out? _

He had no idea, but enough time had passed for odors of death, rot, shit and piss to percolate in the hot room. It smelled like Hell itself.

"Hey, James, what's wrong? You're so quiet." The flirtatious girl's voice again brought him back to the present. "That's not like you." She laughed, vacantly.

She knelt down and put her cold hand on his shoulder, it chilled him right through his clothes. She brought her face right in front of his, stunning him with recognition, and no, it was not a pleasant surprise.

"OhhNo!" he yelled, so loud that pain shot through him.

He gazed into Helen's damaged, grinning face. She laughed, though her throat lay open totally down to her bare and obviously fractured vertebrae. Flesh hung from her chin in scraps, wavering like a shredded curtain.

"Oh, thank-ee-you. You've answered my next question," she said.

Seeing that she obviously could not be alive, his panic competed against his denial, with panic having the upper hand. Her head appeared to be attached solely with soft tissue now, but somehow it remained steady and stable on her shoulders.

She said, "I seem to remember something about you and Max wanting to stick your _dicks_ in me, and you thought it would be even hotter if I hated it?"

He could hear the flesh and bone squish and crackle in her neck as she laughed. She laid down beside him, her battered, bloodied face close to his. He tried to recoil, look away from her, but couldn't take his eyes off.

"Helen . . . it was just a game. You knew that, you were playing along," James barefaced.

"And James, I remember now I lied about loving it 'cause I was so scared. Just the way you're lying now. Are you scared of me, now, James? Why?"

Nothing in her appearance gave James hope that she was merely a hallucination. Her features were solid, vivid and shadowless, nothing like an illusion. Her head behind her right ear had been smashed. He could see that, from his own blows, she had a broken tooth in her bloodied mouth. Worse, she actually smelled like butchered meat. Seemingly oblivious to all this, she tapped her fingers audibly on the concrete in front of him with her long, crudely-bitten nails. Her eyes looked adventurous, and James hated it.

"Ewww, what the fuck? Your hands!" she said noticing. "What truck drove over you?"

He just stared back, not knowing if she just taunted or really didn't know.

Actually, she did not know. To Helen, it felt like a dream, but she could not remember going to sleep. Her last memory was of James hitting her in the face while Max cinched her arms. It seemed only a few minutes ago to her, and she felt so much relief to have been removed from it to find herself in control of James now. Where this room had been so hot before, it was now cold to Helen, though she could not shiver, an odd feeling. Despite the cold, she felt no real numbness, just something like it. Baffled, she now came to the conclusion that she was high and tripping, and James was not real, but a toy for her rage.

When he didn't answer she said, "So, I have an idea now: let's do something I'll enjoy and you'll hate!"

She swept her hand up and down his shoulders and ribs, like a caress, but her icy touch sent chills through him. She noticed his flinching, so she did it more. Then her hand brushed by his wound, which drew her attention.

She sat up and said, "Oh, look at that! Your spine must be jacked to the balls. Can you even feel your cock now? . . . No? Guess you've lost that loving feeling, James." She wailed, "Lo-ost that loving feeling, Lo-ost that lo-ving feeling, now it's gone, gone, gone oh, woe, woe, wo-oe . . !"

She ended singing right next his ear. He didn't know if she couldn't sing or deliberately sang it so wretchedly.

_She can't sing; she doesn't even have a throat! What kind of shit God put me in this Hell?_

She lay her cheek against his back and looked at the wound. James shuddered.

"I bet a wound like that is _so_ painful, though," she said.

"Please, Helen . . . I'm sorry!"

She laughed at him. "I know you're sorry. You're the sorriest thing I ever met, James. I'm sorry, too, but you got me beat in every sorriest way."

"What are you going to do?" James had no idea what she could do to him. He hoped a ghost couldn't do much.

_ They're like unsubstantial, aren't they? _

As though to answer that, she tapped her fingers audibly again.

"I don't really know," she said. "You hit me so hard! I think you hurt my brain. Can you feel this?" She grabbed the back of his thigh and squeezed, her rage surged.

"What?"

She laughed, this time longer. James did not like the sound of it. "I guess not. What about . . . THIS!" She shoved her fingers directly into his wound.

James felt sharp icicles shoot into his limbs, and around his torso in a spiral, and then into his head, where they kept exploding. His screams filled the entire large room, but he didn't even know he was screaming; the pain drowned it out. He thought he was dying, and wished it was happening faster.

To her surprise, she could insert her fingers further and further through the scabs until her whole hand was in the wound. She attacked his spine, his brain, all his nerves. She laughed, no, she cackled. Never had she felt such power, and never had she felt so totally right about using it, and she would have continued, but she became afraid of losing her awareness, so she withdrew her hand in self-preservation. To her wonder, it came out clean. He kept screaming but the screams had lessened in intensity, and continued to diminish, as she regained her senses. Instead of cold, now she was warm, and it had felt orgasmic. She laughed at him again.

"Wow! What a rush!"

_Oh, man, I'm going to keep this up until this trip's over!_

James stopped screaming and began to moan.

"That was wicked!" said Helen. "Can we do that again?"

"No . . . NO!"

"I just love it when you say that, baby balls!" She plunged her hand back in. The same pain wracked through James, and they both lost all sense of time before it ended.

"HELEN!" said a roaring voice.

Startled, Helen withdrew her hand and looked back at the door where the voice came from, not knowing her head incongruously balanced on a ravaged neck.

_Brigitte!_

She cried out, not only at the half-animal glaring at her with orange eyes, but at her own mutilated corpse lying at its feet, which also stared with a look of terror frozen in her glazed eyes, it's neck torn out down to the very bones. Peering out from behind Brigitte were the large brown eyes of a thin little girl.

"You're back!" said Brigitte.

Helen now recalled her last living minutes, a nightmare, but she knew, not a dream. She screamed even louder than James had, but for mere seconds before she evaporated, shifting back into the cold, oblivious slumber that was the normal state of the dead.

James kept howling after she disappeared. This time, Brigitte laughed at him.

"Whoh. She wasn't quite as dead as I thought," she said, walking over.

"Who was that, mum?" said Annabelle, who had entered with her, and coughed.

"That was your cousin, Helen. She came to visit you, too. She and JJ here were playing without _my_ permission." She crouched down in front of James and lifted his head by the hair. He peered at her, his eyes senseless. "That was bad of you, JJ. It's time for your real punishment."

She looked over at his back wound. "Think you can be moved?"

"Uh, n . . ."

Brigitte hoisted him up by his belt; he screamed in agony again.

"You're wrong, it's no problem!" she said.

He continued to scream as she carried him like a purse toward the steps.

"You stink," she said, "We'll have to change your diaper, too. Or get you one."

She reached the first step, Annabelle following, when Brigitte's fur stood up as she thought she saw Ginger out of the corner of her eye. She sprung, turning around toward the new apparition, hitting James' head on the post before dropping him on the steps. He continued to scream.

_Oh, no! Not again! _She anticipated a severe beating and felt herself sweat, including in her mouth. Saliva dripped from her jaws onto James' face.

She did see Ginger, transparent, naked, and with no sign of claws or fangs, and no fur.

"Brigitte!" she said, in an airy voice.

"Gin-ger," Brigitte growled, challenging.

Looking around confused, Ginger regarded the two corpses, and then glanced quizzically at Annabelle. Brigitte growled a threat, her tail flipped. Weak, fading already, the red-head raised an index finger, saying, "Purpose is catching up to you!" She had totally faded almost even before she could finish the sentence.

Brigitte looked around, shifting her stance, still wary, of an attack. James groaned on the steps below. "Shut up!" she roared, and scratched his face with a sweep of her foot claw.

_Purpose? Like June's bullshit? I must have imagined it!_

Except then, as Brigitte reached down for James again, Annabelle asked, "Who is Ginger, Mum?"

* * *

Lewis knew that any werewolf in a populated area, no matter how sly, would leave clues to its presence. One just had to know what to look for. Quite possibly Brigitte and Jason had moved on, but they both couldn't have moved far. They were in the area. He hoped.

Of course, much of the area was wilderness.

All leads exhausted, at least until daybreak, the hunt for Brigitte had now been reduced to simply waiting. With Arthur's permission, he now sat at the police station. Two constables were in the large room, but they paid no attention to him. He listened to the police radio for any local developments and watched the computer screen for any regional leads anywhere. He and Frank had been doing this in shifts since midnight. Never before did he have access to internal police communications on a werewolf case, and how it would have helped on prior cases. He expected to hear something intriguing now, if either Jason or Brigitte were active. From the computer screen, he could see up-to-minute reports from RCMP stations in the entire surrounding region. Nevertheless, it had yielded nothing tonight, but he wondered what the blizzard concealed?

His cell phone rang. He answered it, recognizing the ring tone. "Good morning, Frank. Sleep well?"

"Not really," said Frank, drowsy.

"No, nothing more exciting has happened here either; much like watch in the military. Come on out."

"Think of any other plans?" asked Frank.

"Yes, when the sun comes up, I need for you to call animal services in the surrounding areas, then join me for breakfast."

"Doesn't sound like a full day's work," said Frank, "but I guess I'm getting paid anyway. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to rest, have breakfast, and then join you to find Gadepalli's colleague. This Dr. Christina Lorraine. She seems to be our last lead."

Frank sighed. "We're about to miss an important deadline. You think she'll be any easier to locate today than she was last night?"

"Don't be so negative, Frank. Today Gadepalli might even dig himself out of the snow-drift he's under."

* * *

June could not tell how long she rested, there being no way to tell time in this sealed room, but she was surprised at how quickly she seemed to recover her energy. The wind continued to blow outside. She stood looking up at the windows, far above her head, while she wrapped strips of tarp over her palms in a sort of bandage. Her cuts were toward the thumbs, not really on her palms proper, they were scabbed, but almost to her relief, had not even begun to heal. Shannon gave her an account of how she got them.

_My greatest moment, and I can't remember it!_

June sighed. Success in this escape plan required heavy used of her hands. She had already tried the vent above the sink, but it was too small even for her. So, this was the only plan left.

They had eaten the last of the food, and June knew Shannon would not last long without it, or perhaps even with it, in her condition. June walked over to the sink, underneath which she had built a cramped little shelter for Shannon against the cold. June had put the rug around it and clamped it into place. It was extremely cramped for the large girl; she had to lay down curled up, but better to reserve what little body heat she still had. June had filled the sink with hot water and put the rug over that as well, hoping it's heat would dissipate more downward.

"All right, Shay, I'm going to get help. Once I'm through the window, it's going to be very cold in here. So, fucking stay in place until help arrives."

"Don't have to tell me twice," said Shannon, lying in a fetal position under the pipes. "This is the warmest I've been since shit happened." She closed her eyes.

"Good," said June, clamping the rug's edge back into place.

She began to turn away when she saw something jet black in the corner of her eye standing on the carpet over the sink. When she looked directly at it, it came into focus as a large bird, like a crow or raven.

"Who are you?"

It cawed, the recognition code, one short, two long, two short, then made a coughing sound. "Nevermore, neve . . . oops, I mean, the Captain sent me."

"What for?" she asked, incredulous.

"To guard Shay. Jason's out there. If he gets in, she's going to need help. I'm a decorated commando."

She looked him up and down. If he wore medals, they were all jet black as well. He was bigger than a one-footer and looked brawny- for a bird. "You're no match for a werewolf." June scoffed. "What are you going to do?"

"Ha, ha! Neither are you. What are you going to do?"

"I have a hammer," she said, without any irony. "I play tennis, and have a mean forearm."

"And if he gets in here, I'll take his eyes out, nevermore!" said the raven.

"Just stay away from his teeth," said June.

"June? You talking to somebody?" Shannon called, her voice muffled.

"Not at all," said June, looking back at the raven, shaking her head.

"Nevermore . . . ! I mean, good luck, Rose Petal!" Nevermore bleated.

"Stupid council," she muttered as she turned away.

June went toward the window, picked up the hammer up off the stool. Stepping beneath the window, which was a little more than two feet wide, and less than that in depth, she saw it's lowest point was perhaps ten feet from the floor. Her head began to play a long violin tone to her while she ignored the whispers she was hearing. The wall was smooth. She knew nothing about climbing and would have to improvise it. She picked up a wooden painter's pole, which stood taller than she was, and tied the hammer securely to one end it using another strip of tarp and a nail she had driven into it earlier. She then stuck the pole vertically on a stack of three cinder blocks against the wall, putting the hammer between it and the mold-hole in the top block, which stabilized the pole as she left it leaning there. After she got out the window, she planned to reach back in for the pole, retrieving the hammer. It was close enough to reach, she thought, but not so close it would get upended. She couldn't trust securing it somehow to her body as she climbed, and otherwise this kept it out of the way until she needed it.

The ceiling was far above. In the dim light, she could barely see a pipe hanging almost a foot beneath, running parallel to and inches away from a joist, from which the window lay three to four feet away on the other side. That pipe was the only good hand-hold she could see. She pulled the short stool beneath, stepped on top of it and took a deep breath. She jumped for it, higher than she thought she could, and caught it the first time. As she did, she heard the the stool legs crack, and knew this would be her only try.

Crying out from the pain in her cut hands, she held on. The dainty girl swung her legs up into the window and kicked. The old wood gave way, glass behind it broke, and with more kicks, the rotten boards on the other side gave way as well. She could see a dim, daytime light. Snow fell, then blew in, and the wind bellowed behind it with hard gusts. She kept kicking, while grunting and groaning with the strain, until she had knocked out all the glass and old wood she could see.

Splaying her legs out, hooking her feet against the sides, she then flexed her knees, using them to try to pull herself further out. The windowsill was no more than a half-inch deep, and deteriorated; no good handholds there, or anywhere. She still could not get her legs in far enough to curl her knees around the frame, so she pressed her legs against the window-sides in a friction hold, glass shards and splinters sticking into her outer calves. She yelped and gritted her teeth, let go of the pipe and grabbed the joist from underneath, her hands in U-positions, tried to dig her nails into the old wood for more purchase, but these holds gave her no leverage to push herself through any further. The wind blew snow into her face. Her hand muscles strained, and the cuts on her palms made her scream. She looked for a better handhold, but nothing presented itself.

"The pole, Rose Petal . . . the pole!" said Nevermore, out of sight.

She could only reach it by letting go of the joist and hanging precariously upside down. She still couldn't reach it. She hyper-extended her back and felt and heard it it crack. Glass gouged and scraped her calves even more deeply. As she touched the pole, it began to fall out of her reach. She snapped her shoulders and back to catch it, yelping as her joints popped. Her legs slipped and she pressed her calves ankles more tightly into the sides, the glass ripping cloth and peeling her skin off slowly. She lifted the poll and flexed her torso back up even with the window, as her abdominal muscles screamed. She put the hammer-end out of the pole out. The other end she braced against the joist. Gripping it with both hands, she pressed herself through enough with a reverse-climb, hand-under-hand to get her knees bent around the window frame. She then put the pole fully outside, locked it across the frame, and used it to pull herself out. Her coat caught on something; she pulled harder and wiggled, it tore, and she emerged outdoors for the first time in eleven weeks.

Finding herself in a snow-drift, she poked her head above it. Her eyes, acclimated to indoors, couldn't take even the clouded white glare. The cold wind hit her fully in the face, and snowflakes attacked her eyes, too, like fleas leaping on a puppy. The short glance told her it was a whiteout. She turned her eyes away and looked at the stinging lacerations in her ankles and calves, which bled through denim. The backs of her knees were also cut and felt wet. None of it seemed potentially fatal, though, and she couldn't do anything about it now. She untied the hammer, put her gloves on, and carried it in her left hand.

The council had given her one simple plan: follow the wall until she found the front entrance, then get help and rescue Shannon. Knowing their prison room had hot water told her it had to be on the same plumbing circuit as the inhabited sections, and therefore close to them. As long as she chose the right direction, the council reasoned that she should be able to get to the front entrance before Jason even knew she was ever there, and he wouldn't dare go after her now in broad daylight anyway, would he? Werewolves only hunted at night, right?

Not daring to go outside the sight of the wall, June went between fifty and sixty feet trudging through drifts and piles that came up to her waist. Without a hat or scarf, her ears and neck were freezing. She knew this building was huge, and she might be walking until nearly the afternoon if she chose the wrong direction. She came to a leftward corner; turned it and could still see nothing further than ten or fifteen feet. Still dazzled, she thought she saw the buried lumps of nearby cars: the parking lot. So, she thought she likely approached the front lobby. She kept trudging. Her eyes down and mostly closed against the bright glare from every direction.

Then, above the wind, she heard footsteps squeaking into the snow, long squeaks, like something large. She looked around, nothing was visible yet. Then she heard them specifically coming from behind her.

June spun around, and forced her eyes to stay open, but already the werewolf had come within arm's reach. Her breath caught. A striking dark gray creature gazed back at her, with hateful blue eyes. Its size astonished her most; it stood facing her practically eye to eye, showing her lethal-looking fangs almost the size of her forefinger.

_Ja . . . !_

With a yelp, she swung the hammer at its head.

Despite Jason's quickness, he did not see the weapon and didn't expect an attack so fast, nor from that direction. He jerked his head back, but the hammer landed squarely on his nose with a hard splat. He yelped once like a puppy.

It didn't just sting. June crushed his right nostril and momentarily stunned, blinded and deprived him of smell. The indignant beast had never felt that much pain- and he had been shot before. He had recoiled two meters, but now he roared, shaking blood from his nose. June knew her best and luckiest shot had only enraged him, and even as she ran away, his roar thundered over the wind and through her gut; telling her which force of nature was mightier and more pissed off at her.

_Hammer? I need a howitzer!_

"Help! Help!" she screamed, hoping whoever heard also carried one.

She heard the squeaking behind her of huge feet galloping through snow. Now she screamed in pure panic. His triumphant growl and breath on her neck told her he had caught up already; the entrance was nowhere in sight.

_I'm dea . . !_

The werewolf's hard skull butted her between her shoulder blades knocking her into the snow face first and winding her. It put it's heavy paw right right between her shoulder blades, grabbed her hair and pulled her head up and held her like that, putting more and more of its weight on its paw, which began to crush into her back as she felt the first pokes of its claws.

She then heard a human yell coming from somewhere in front of her, followed by a snarl not from Jason's direction, accompanied by a hiss like a whip, and ending with the sound of wood splintering. Jason bellowed; he released her, and removed his foot from her back. His snarl lacked power now, and segued into a tone of unmistakeable anguish.

Unable to breathe, she turned herself over, and she could see Jason backing off, a pole sticking three feet out of his back by the left shoulder. It looked deep, but it was impossible to tell how deep without knowing how long the stake had been. Three gunshots rang out from behind her, and she felt one whiz by her ear, causing her to throw herself back into the snow, but not before she saw Jason backing further, his growls sounding tortured. She lifted her head again to watch him retreat further, but he had stopped and snarled in challenge. Then another gunshot sounded out, and a similar snarl came from behind June, right as somebody grabbed her by her coat collar, hoisted her up and carried her running at full speed.

Jason growled, but hobbled with his wound, he could not keep up. June quickly lost sight of him and his next snarl sounded further away. She glanced her rescuer's legs running through the snow. She thought the person wore light brown pants with red streaks.

But no, on second glance, it was fur.

_Uh oh! Brigitte!_

The snow suddenly cleared as June realized she was under a covered walkway. Brigitte shoved the front door open, took a few steps, shoved open the inner door of the vestibule with bang, hardware fell off it and clattered on the floor, as she tossed June inside.

June landed prone, breaking her fall quite a distance a way and noticed the floor was wet. With fresh blood. A lot of it.

"You fucking idiot!" yelled Brigitte, voice echoing as she put a large plank through the handles of the front door, bolting them to each other, shut. Her voice was a crude series of growls and rasps, but with occasional girlish pitch, which confused the emotional tone of her speech.

There were two staircases in front of June. As she got to her knees and her vision adjusted, she saw corpses, three immediately in front of her. To her left side, she saw another. Mangled and bloody, all been killed violently. She noticed groans of pain coming from somewhere, and looked around for the person who was still alive.

When June turned, she saw Brigitte walking from the door toward the center of the room. She had not appreciably changed since the last time June had seen her, except now her eyes were pure orange, and not brown in the least.

"He was not going to hurt you, you stupid bitch!" Brigitte growled. "I fixed it so he wouldn't hurt you, but now you had to go piss him off!"

June hardly heard her, she still tried to absorb what she saw around her. Dead, mangled corpses . . . body parts . . . a lobby full of blood. More blood than she could have ever imagined. She could see a total of six people strewn about the lobby dead and knew all of them: all staff members. A few had been tortured. She wanted to sink down and mourn. A seventh person was alive and lay wounded and maimed to the left of Brigitte, groaning. June knew him too, Byron, but was too shocked to observe his exact injuries. The hammer fell from her hand.

_Oh my God! It's a catastrophe! Terrorists have struck!_

She did not see Brigitte rush up and grab her, picking her up face-to-face.

"Did you even hear me? Pay attention!"

She smelled Brigitte now, a sweet scent that warmed her and brought her out of shock. It was like the scent of home.

"Yeah, I paid attention," whispered June.

Brigitte let go of her.

"What do you mean he wouldn't have hurt me?" June asked.

Brigitte bared her fangs. Smile? Irritation? Brigitte's face was all but unreadable, but something told June it was irritation. She could see Brigitte's tail whip behind her, as a cat's would, not a canine's.

"You know what I'm talking about. You have the curse now. He wouldn't have killed you . . . deliberately. But now that you've fucking given him a bloody nose . . ." Brigitte lifted her paws up by her ears and extended her claws in an exasperated gesture, but then inappropriately laughed. "_You_ gave him a bloody nose. That's so funny!" Laughter took totally over for a second, the she continued. "Oh, what the fuck am I going to do with you, June?"

"How would he know that I'm . . . cursed?"

Brigitte pointed to her own nose. "It's obvious. Just go near a dog now and see what happens."

"Oh," June tried to absorb this. "So, what was he doing sneaking up on me?"

"He was playing, June, he loves the smell of fear, but he wouldn't have killed you. But now, you can count on him killing you, painfully, and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it. We'll just have to . . . escape."

"Nothing you can . . . ?" It dawned on June there was something less than monstrous about Brigitte's motivation. "Why did you save me, again?"

"Oh, you'll understand why," said Brigitte.

The guy continued to moan as June tried to think. "But you fucked him up real good, he might not live . . ."

Brigitte shook her head in clear annoyance. "He'll be healed before tonight, probably by this afternoon. He was still running after us! Fuck, I'm pretty sure he won't kill me, but he's going to punish me if he can."

"Before or after he . . ." June saw Brigitte tense, and instead rephrased, "You know a lot about him. Are you two like . . ?"

Brigitte's tail flicked. June felt forewarned.

". . . just friends now?" asked June.

Then Brigitte sighed. The groaning had become louder distracting her, too. "I'll explain in a few. I have something to finish here." She turned her back on June and walked up to Byron.

June's attention now drew back to the carnage, she asked, "What the fucking hell is all this? Brigitte? What have you done?"

Brigitte did not answer immediately, but put a foot on the man's neck. Her toe claws extended and poked him. He cried out.

"What? Oh, this? Jason and I have an understanding," said Brigitte. "He kills anyone out there, but anyone who gets in here is mine." She grabbed the man's arm and extended it. "And it looks like I got _really_ lucky, here."

Byron's face was torn, his left eye gone; the lid hung like a torn curtain over the empty socked. His leg and other arm were at bad angles, broken. His back and ribs slashed and bloody.

"Now where were we?" Brigitte said to him. "Oh, yes, remember the stairwell my first day when you pinned me to the door, remember what you said? I remember thinking, 'In a few days, I'm going to kill you fucker!'"

"No! help!" he pleaded to June.

_"Don't just let this happen," said a man's voice._

She looked over and a policeman with angel-wings stood next to the guard's counter, pointing toward a gun there on the floor.

The gun was only seven or eight feet away. Knowing Brigitte's senses to be keen, June dared only inch toward it.

"You thought my arm looked ugly? Well how about yours . . . "

Brigitte took his upper arm in both her hands and wrung it between them, twisting it. ". . . NOW?"

The loud crack of the bone and his shrieks of pain horrified June far more than anything else that had happened so far. The winged policeman was suddenly gone.

Brigitte said, "You know why my arm was so ugly, motherfucker?" She twisted again. He shrieked.

June could not allow this to go on any longer. She hastened toward the gun, made it there and picked it up.

Brigitte continued oblivious, shouting now, "To stop me from doing things like this to . . ."

June began to point it toward Brigitte's head, twelve feet away.

"DROP IT!" Brigitte roared.

June's hand opened. The revolver clattered on the floor before she even knew she had obeyed. Brigitte hadn't even turned toward her. Incredulous and confused, June tried to retrieve it.

"Don't move!" came Brigitte's next peremptory command, and June could not move. Not even her fingers, not even a little.

"_Captain," said Rose Petal via radio. "I'm subverted. Probably dead."_

Leaving Byron groaning and writhing in pain, Brigitte turned on June, who could feel her seething and wanted to run. She expected to die . . .

Suddenly, she was on the ground, her ears rang, especially her left ear which apparently took the blow that bruised her but, surprisingly, didn't kill. She could not remember Brigitte coming toward her but remembered the backhanded blow to the ear; it had happened so fast. As she opened her eyes, Brigitte stood above her and held the revolver.

"Careless of me just tossing this on the floor after I brought you in! I feel like I'm babysitting you," she said. "You're like a fucking little sister."

June began to get up, bewildered. "How did you do that?" she asked.

Brigitte laughed. "The Jedi shit? Don't really understand it myself," said Brigitte. "But I knew I could do it. Just like the night Ginger died. She commanded me to drink Sam's blood. She was even a full werewolf then, but for a few minutes, I understood her and I didn't have a choice, either. I came out of it pretty fast, but I wasn't as far along as you are now. You've come a long way in a short time."

"No! Werewolves don't have a power like that!"

Brigitte laughed again. "And you know that from- being a movie buff? We're a pack, June. I infected you, so maybe I'm, like- the alpha-wolf to your beta."

June blinked.

"I'm like the alpha-wolf," Brigitte repeated. "And you're, like, my little sister now. Or maybe, really, more like my child."

"No . . . no . . . that's not true! That can't be."

"Except you'll probably obey me more the more you grow up."

"Oh, no . . . no . . ." June's head felt full. "That's not true!" June declared. "I work for the council, and I'm rescuing you!"

Brigitte laughed. "What? The cou . . ? Oh, that's right, you're crazy. You work for me June, and this is my place now, and you and everyone in it are mine."

"I'm not yours!"

"If it makes you feel better, I'm yours too. Your my pack-sister."

"Why did you give it to me?" June cried.

"Because I'd probably kill you otherwise, but not now."

"This can't . . ." June felt a headache accompanied by all kinds of voices and bad music, but above it all she heard Byron groaning louder now. "Please, let me do something to help him!"

"Oh, are his noises hurting you?" Brigitte asked.

"Please?"

Brigitte took June by the wrist and led her back toward, Byron, who lay on the ground with his arm twisted so that the upper arm looked like the end of a sausage, his lower arm was dark purple. To June's surprise, Brigitte handed her the gun.

"Now be be a good child and put him out of your misery," said Brigitte.

"No!" said June, but even as she said it the gun in her hand pointed at him.

"No!" he begged.

June thought of shooting Brigitte, but the gun in her hand wouldn't waver from Byron. For a second, June felt only confusion and turmoil. Her hand shook. She looked down at the critically injured man. He stared back up at her, his one eye pleading.

"Kill him!" Brigitte ordered.

The gun went off. Blood and brains splattered from his ruptured head all over the floor, his body convulsed; he went silent.

June screamed, dropped gun, fell to her knees and wept hysterically.

_Did really I do that? That wasn't me! _

She actually did not know for sure. The moment it went off she had a picture of Brigitte shooting him.

"Wicked! This Jedi-shit really rocks!" said Brigitte.

"Rocks?" cried June. "Sick! I'm sick too now. You're dragging me . . ." June couldn't speak anymore, she sobbed too much. Her mind raced with visions and thoughts thick with anguish, music ringing in her head.

"_My soul is breaking! My mind is broke!" Rose Petal cried into the radio."Captain, I've been subverted. Over. Need help, please! Over!" _

_ I'm mentally ill. Something else is controlling me. That's impossible. Command hallucinations. Classic symptoms . . . My prognosis is fucked! I'm incurable . . . contaminated, infected, evil . . . _

She felt Brigitte caressing her hair saying, "Don't take it so hard. If you couldn't do it, yet, I was going to kill him anyway."

June flinched from her, and said between sobs, "I meant . . . call help!"

"We don't need any help," said Brigitte ignorantly, caressing her again.

"For him!"

Brigitte laughed. "I have news for you, the telephones don't work anymore. No cell phones here either."

"What?" June knew the place had no cell phone coverage. Dr. Gadepalli had a sat-phone.

"I took them out," said Brigitte. "We're the only help needed here."

June knew there were more than thirty patients here, all helpless and unarmed, and if Brigitte weren't bad enough now, tonight was the full moon, and she would get far worse.

"_Brigitte? What about you, June?" said Byron's voice. _

_No! It's all a hallucination. Nothing here is real! None of it!_

She felt a certain dizziness and chill, a sign she almost missed with all the other shocks she'd taken, but she emerged enough to look around the room and saw the source. Ginger stood between the staircases. This time she wore black and almost looked solid. She checked her own clothes and seemed relieved.

"Bee, June! I'm still weak . . . "

"CUNT!" screamed Brigitte. "You get the fuck out of here!"

Brigitte's tone so enraged, it almost froze June, who noticed Brigitte's fur had puffed out so she actually looked bigger. To Brigitte, Ginger looked mostly transparent and hazy. She lacked June's special vision.

Ginger felt herself freezing up quickly. She saw the corpses, and specifically, the one in front of June, with its head shattered, the gun lying on the floor. Most importantly, she observed hair poking out of a scar on June's neck. Putting it all together swiftly, she chose the message.

"June, smell is everything!" said Ginger, and she was gone again already, back into _coldsleep._

"At least the bitch never sticks around now," said Brigitte with a shudder.

"You're afraid of her?" said June, noticing.

Brigitte cuffed her on the shoulder making June cry out.

"I can still kill you by accident!" said Brigitte. She lifted June to her feet by her collar. "Come on stop bawling! He would have done the same thing to us, if we were wounded or not."

"I'm a murderer!" cried June.

"Honey, he's not your species anymore. That takes the homi- out of homicide. You'll learn that really soon."

June fought it. "Why can't I think . . . ?"

"Now, we have to figure out what we're going to do about Jason."

"No, no, first, I have to help Shannon," said June, not ready to abandon her human responsibilities, despite Brigitte's pressure.

Brigitte laughed. "Help her? I'll go to the boy's wing, bring her a stud . . ."

"No. I have to get to her, or she'll die. That's why I broke out. She needs clothes and needs to get warm at least."

"I thought she was magical," said Brigitte.

"Please, let me get her some clothes?"

Brigitte laughed. "Oh, that's so cute! You want to dress up your little New-Bee doll, June?"

"Fuck you!" cried June.

"Well, let's go up and get some clothes," said Brigitte.

June couldn't believe it. She thought Brigitte had been mocking her, never did she expect to persuade her so easily.

Brigitte continued, "I have to make an announcement anyway."

"Announce . . . ?"

"Don't worry. You'll be safe. And . . . I can't wait to see New-Bee again anyway. See how she's changed."

Brigitte's tail whipped back and forth, and it wasn't a wag.


	25. Unscented

_**A/N 11/18/10:** I'm very sorry this chapter was so delayed by family and other issues. I was creatively blocked at one point. However, on the plus side, this chapter was originally more than 10,000 words long, but I've divided it in half. It seems that what I think is the stopping point for a chapter is always twice as far away as I thought. Chapter 26 only needs some finishing touches and proofreading before it goes up._

_There are a lot of hallucinations in this chapter, since June is mentally ill. However, if June doesn't know what's real, I don't want readers to be confused. If it had been inconsistent before, from here on, all the hallucinations are in italics, as opposed to ghosts, whose dialog and actions are in normal text._

* * *

**Chapter 25:**

UNSCENTED

Before they left, Brigitte had them search the bodies, for keys. She took the bundle of them and ordered June to carry them. "Put them in your pockets, don't drop them, don't lose them, and _don't_ give them to anyone." June knew she would obey despite her wishes.

As they walked to the ward, Brigitte boasted in gory detail of her kills from the night before. June stayed silently bewildered as Brigitte prattled on.

She finally asked, "How many people did you kill?"

Brigitte thought a moment. "Something like twenty, twenty-two. I didn't count."

_"It's a war zone," said a voice._

"Oh, Brigitte!" June wanted to break down and cry on the spot. She knew this did not even include people Jason had killed outside.

_This can't be happening. I've missed my medications. None of this is real!_

_"Yes, it's too real, Rose Petal, don't let yourself fail now," said the Captain's voice. _

June felt awed at how strategic and systematic the massacre must have been. She had expected nothing near this level of shrewdness from a werewolf, she thought they were essentially powerful rabid animals. In hindsight, talking to Ginger should have given her a clearer indication of their intelligence but impressions left by movies and stories had been too strong.

"You'll admire me for it, soon," said Brigitte.

"Did you admire Ginger?"

"No, but she admires me. Hey, I forgot the best thing: I also stopped a rape!"

This confused June. Nothing Brigitte said until now suggested any morality to her actions, yet she now boasted about stopping a rape like it was the peak of a night where she reveled in slaughtering a score of innocent people.

"Did you eat the rapist?" June asked sarcastically, too perplexed to think of the more important questions to ask.

Laughing, Brigitte said, "Ewww. Me? No!"

Before June's thoughts could organize for another question, they had arrived. Brigitte only had to push the door open to the girl's ward. Instead, Brigitte grabbed her tightly around the arms, and started to lick her face. Brigitte's tongue was long and smooth, like a dog's. Repulsed, June struggled. Brigitte's scent being intoxicating, it both confused and aroused June as it had before.

_How can a creature this ugly and weird have an erotic fragrance?_

_ "Its pheromones must be close to human pheromones, but stronger and surging now." said the voice of Mr. Bunker, her biology teacher, promoted to council science adviser._

As June struggled, Brigitte pointed out she had a dirty face. "You're a mess. You should look better for the girls."

June realized with perplexed relief that Brigitte wasn't attacking her sexually but was cleaning her like her cub! It reduced her terror, but not her revulsion.

"No, Brigitte! Stop, please!" June cried.

"All right," growled Brigitte, releasing her with a shove, but no argument, to June's complete surprise and relief.

_"It seems she respects you," said Mr. Bunker's voice, "after a fashion." _

Brigitte herself wore blood from head to foot. June now knew that she must be aware of it and must be wearing it for effect: either to terrorize or to boast.

The half-human beast pushed the door open, and June walked back into the the girls' ward, arriving practically attached at Brigitte's wrist. The tiny girl's clothing was dirty and torn, her was face bruised, her hair wild and tangled, her eyes maniacal. Most conspicuously: she was also covered with blood. She looked like Brigitte's mad, willing accomplice and wondered herself if it were true now.

Still early in the morning, only two girls, Jeanne and Lilly, had stirred. Finding the ward oddly unattended they sat in the lounge baffled, though they had not yet observed things closely enough to actually panic. Brigitte had mostly cleaned up evidence of her kills in the hallways.

One glance at Brigitte and June in the doorway sent the two girls cowering under the table. Brigitte growled to them that they'd better stay there.

June went first to her own room, begging Brigitte for a few moments of solitude with the excuse of cleaning herself and getting a new change of clothing. Actually, she couldn't care less about her own comfort now; she hoped for just a few seconds alone to think and maybe receive a message out of Brigitte's sight, but Brigitte wouldn't leave her alone. When she opened the door, she found the room bloody. What's more, Bobby was there, and he had changed. He now looked solid, and this time he definitely noticed her breasts, his leering, insane gaze practically buried itself in them.

"Oh, milady this is sooo much better!" he said to Brigitte, while he stalk toward June with his hands out.

"I didn't bring her here for you, asshole!" said Brigitte.

"Bobby, don't look at me and never come near me!" June exclaimed, shocked. She felt something hot between her breasts.

_The skulls!_

Bobby's eyes averted from her and he backed off immediately. June dashed from the room with Brigitte behind her.

"I thought you were friends," said Brigitte.

In the hallway she said, "He's changed, he wasn't anything like that before, what the fuck changed him?"

"I have no idea," said Brigitte. "He isn't the only ghost around here, though."

"You've seen them?" asked June.

"Yes, and a few you might know," said Brigitte.

June puzzled with this as they walked to Shannon's room. She hoped the council pondered it, too.

After they arrived, Brigitte threw herself on her back across the head of the bed; she lay there and cleaned herself, licking blood off her shoulder with an impossibly long tongue and a neck moving at absurd angles. June had to use the bathroom, which had no door. Brigitte refused to leave her. Unable to hold it, June had to relieve herself in Brigitte's presence despite the humiliation.

Afterward, June found Shannon a clean set of clothing, including shoes, which she put on the other end of the bed. Suddenly Brigitte sniffed the air, and followed her nose down to Shannon's shoes, which she then sniffed over methodically. She stood up with a snort and followed her nose over to the drawer set next to the bed, opened the lowest drawer, got down on all fours and sniffed through Shannon's laundry. She acted extremely canine until she put a claw in to take the items out and smell them each individually, tossing them out on the floor in turn.

June tried to go back to what she was doing, still making furtive glances to Brigitte as she took Shannon's coat, scarf, gloves and hat from the cabinet. She noticed, with surprise that Shannon did not have a suitcase of any kind. She brought the winter clothes to the bed, thought again and went back to get a sweater as well. Meanwhile, Brigitte's fur had fluffed out all over her; making her look larger. She stood up then kicked the drawer closed.

"Fuck!" she growled. "It doesn't make fucking sense!" She looked back at June who had frozen at the outburst. "Can't you go any faster?" Brigitte asked.

"Um, I am about done here," said June.

"Oh," said Brigitte, picking up Shannon's winter coat. "Where do you think she's going?"

June inferred suspicion though the tone was again unreadable. "Nowhere," said June, "but those halls are cold enough."

"Oh. Didn't notice," said Brigitte, who sat on the bed and began to clean her claw just like a cat.

_"She's going to kill her, too," said the voice of an Eternal, Asrael, at least that's who June believed it was. "Your mission is to stop her."_

_ "But how?" said Rose Petal, into the radio. _

A guitar played soprano notes C-B-G and repeated. She wanted to sing, something, but was too afraid of Brigitte to start. Meanwhile, she folded the blanket around the clothes creating a kind of improvised bag. A guitar, bass and drums started in.

"I need something better to carry these in, and she needs food." said June, speaking loudly.

Brigitte stopped cleaning herself, stood up and said, "Come on."

When she did, the lyrics to the song came in:

"_Lie awake in bed at night  
And think about your life  
Do you want to be different?  
Try to let go of the truth  
The battles of your youth  
'Cause this is just a game."*_

She listened closely for messages hidden in it as she followed Brigitte out. As they were in the hall, June heard interspersed voices that no longer whispered but shouted to her.

"_Hence the punishment of the heathen. Time to repent your atheism and turn to God . . . he's talking to you, you know . . ."_

_ "Captain this is Rose Petal." said her voice to the radio "Mayday. I'm subverted. Awaiting breakout codes, send messenger, please!"_

_ "Did they subvert you, too?" asked Dr. Gadepalli, "I know exactly how you feel . . ." _

"_It's a beautiful lie  
It's the perfect denial  
Such a beautiful lie to believe in  
So beautiful, beautiful it makes me"*  
_

While all the voices converged in her head, June felt tears dripping down her face as they turned at the nurse's station and went up the perpendicular hallway toward the dining room. They arrived to find the door was locked, of course. Before June could say anything, Brigitte crouched down and lunged hitting the door with both arms. She did it three times in rapid succession. On the third, the door flew open. It had all happened so fast, as fast as three punches by a martial arts expert, that June felt she did not actually see it but only remembered what she thought must have happened. She was awed. Even the music in her head went dead silent.

As they entered, she heard some kind of heated discussion in the dinning room that suddenly muted with her entry. There by the window on the left side of the room, which was decorated for Halloween, her father, her sister Angie, and her mother turned toward her.

_Finally! You visited me! And who else . . .? _

At a table in the corner, Osama bin Laden sat with a Corporal played by Jared Leto. They took a furtive glance at her but then continued to whisper to each other in an argument.

Brigitte pretended to ignore them all and crossed the room toward the kitchen door. Apparently she had brought June in here especially to see them.

_She had to. There's no such thing as a coincidence like this!_

_"Hello, honey," said dad. "So, I warned you how many times about what you were doing to your life? I hear you've ruined it now, after such promise. Are you ready to come back home and obey?" _

"I'm so ready now; I miss you so much!" June answered, more tears dripped from her eyes.

"What . . ?" said Brigitte, turning toward her.

_ "Too late," he sneered. "The dog house is already occupied."_

June's jaw dropped open. She felt her gut wither.

_ "I hear you've become a murderer." said Angie. "I liked you better before you got a cause, when you were just the meanest, rottenest brat on the planet . . ."_

_ "Angie . . !" said her mother._

"No, not anymore . . ." June protested."

"June . . . ?" said Brigitte interrupting her.

_ ". . . but she IS!" said Angie to her mother. "Everyone, the whole school says it! Now she's crazy, too."_

"JUNE!" Brigitte growled. With that command, June's family froze in place. Osama and the Corporal played by Jared Leto took a glance over and then continued to whisper to each other, but June's attention was now on Brigitte.

"Stop talking to your imaginary friends!" said Brigitte.

"Oh, okay," said June, wondering if that would be her family or the werewolf? Her family now moved again but stayed silent, apparently afraid of angering Brigitte, while bin Laden and the Corporal continued their whispered argument as before. June didn't want to blow her cover by trying to eavesdrop on them.

"_You've been subverted. You have no cover!" said Angie, suddenly._

Brigitte noisily broke down the kitchen door. "Get what you need," she said.

Somebody screamed. June jumped and looked back. A black haired-girl, who June knew as Myra, looked in from the hall, her hands over her mouth. She fled, but not before Brigitte had already bolted for her.

"No, Brigitte! Don't hurt her! Please!" June screamed.

Even by then, she knew Myra was doomed. She heard the second scream cut off, and sicking rips. June learned now what claws rending through flesh sounded like. Blood sprayed on the opposite wall, then she heard the sound of breaking bone. All of June's present hallucinations whispered requiems back and forth in languages June could only half understand as she heard gurgling from the hallway. Brigitte peered back around the door frame licking her claw.

"June, get to it! Meet me out here when you're done. And stop moping!"

June obeyed and hurried into the kitchen. On the floor in the corner she glanced at a mousetrap. It stirred up a sudden memory of her childhood, prompting her to laugh. So irrelevant was the memory to the needs of the moment that it felt like a punchline. She laughed more. Then she remembered Monty Python's mice-men sketch and couldn't stop laughing as she found some bread and checked it to make sure mice hadn't been in it.

"_You don't want gay mice in your bread," said John Cleese, who stepped out into the aisle next to her._

"No! Or in my bed! . . ." she gasped, shrieking between laughs, "I might . . . sneeze . . . at them!" she exclaimed, before she convulsed with laughter so hard she slapped the counter, three, four times, unable to breathe, going light-headed with gleeful asphyxiation.

_"Rose Petal, you're losing control," said the Captain, by radio. "This isn't funny, and that's not Mr. Cleese with you. It's a trick of the Nemesis. Close your eyes and command him to go away." _

June closed her eyes, still unable to stop laughing. "You . . . go . . . away now!" she gasped, and opened her eyes. Cleese was gone, and a few seconds later she was able to stop laughing, and then drew deep breaths.

She then looked in the refrigerator and found some turkey, and some bell peppers. She took a whole bell pepper.

"_Shay needs vitamins," said the doctor's voice._

She took an apple, too, and then began to laugh again.

_Stop moping, Brigitte? I'll stop moping!_

She totally lost focus, atonal music played, and she found herself on a stool looking desperately through overhead cabinets; for what, she did not really know. Until she opened one and almost fell off the stool at the sight of an orange cat, staring out at her, with quite human, blue-green eyes. It held something white in its mouth. Jumping down on the counter, it put the object down, leaped to the floor and dashed away.

"Wait!" said June, but it was totally out of the kitchen and gone. She peered after it for a few seconds before recovering.

_A messenger! _

Its eyes had reminded her of someone, she couldn't think of who. She looked at what it had dropped on the counter: a dead mouse. June felt herself laugh again; she couldn't help it. As she watched, the mouse began to unravel and change. It flattened and spanned out and became a piece of paper with words scrawled on it: "Smell is everything!"

She didn't know what it meant, not yet, but she would. She folded the paper and ate it, it tasted sweet, though she tried not to gag at the thought of also eating a mouse. She waited as the thought clarified in her mind. As it did, she laughed again.

"_Her dominance seems to be carried by smell." said Dr. Gadepalli over radio. "You see her scent must effect your unconscious causing her commands to override your conscious will. It couldn't be psychic, because then verbal commands should be unnecessary. Blocking her scent, should block her mental dominance over you." _

"Attention all patients," said Brigitte, her voice now coming over the loudspeaker. "This hospital is now under new management. Your meds and therapies are all canceled today. So just get normal, relax, and hang out. The kitchen's open, so help yourself. . . ."

June now remembered the family vacation eleven years ago, and staying in a cabin that had mice. She turned out to be allergic to them. She wondered why that had been so funny.

Brigitte's voice continued slowly, ". . . The blood you see all over is part of your new treatment, and the bodies are merely a side effect. . . ."

June began to frenziedly go through the bottom cabinets, sniffing them. She came to one with a revolting odor inside: mouse urine. It smelled like their outhouse. She sniffed again, paused to bring her gag reflex under control, then inhaled the stench deeply through her nose, as Brigitte continued, "If you find the new treatment disturbing, you can't snitch because the phones are out. You are free to _try_ to leave, but it's a cold, dangerous world, and management is not responsible for anything that tears you into fucking little itty-bitty pieces out there. . . ."

June inhaled again, but a sneeze interrupted. Then another, then they came rapid-fire, as she heard Brigitte continue, "You are also absolutely free to enter the old sections, but if you do, management then _will_ _be_ responsible for tearing you into fucking little itty-bitty pieces. . . ."

She closed the cabinet, sneezing so much she began to choke, hoping she hadn't induce her first asthma attack. She felt success as her nasal passages constricted just as she heard Brigitte end, "That's all for now. If you have any questions, just ask June Collier."

_"BITCH!_" a whole chorus of voices shouted, and June would have joined them, had her own voice not been so hindered by sneezing. She hoped Brigitte had heard it.

_"Looks like you're doing spin for her, Rose Petal!" said the voice of the English ambassador. "Perfect position for a spy!"_

She had stopped sneezing and just caught her breath. "But nobody here will trust me now, you idiot!" she said undiplomatically, her voice hoarse. "That's not perfect . . ." she sneezed, ". . . for a fucking spy!"

She coughed to clear her voice as she looked for paper towels and plastic zip-seal bags. Finding them, she held her breath, reached back into the soiled cabinet and wiped the corners with a paper towel, quickly put it in the bag, just in case her sinuses cleared too fast. Of course, she also didn't know how long she had before the effects of Brigitte's scent wore off.

_"That might take some time," said Dr. Gadepalli's voice._

"How long?"

_"It's unknown. Let us know the results," said the doctor._

She washed her hands, wiped her nose on another paper towel, and wash them again_._

"_Your voice will go nasal!" said a jester ,who stepped out into the aisle._

June whispered to him aloud, "Shhhh. I just have to hope she doesn't put it together." She had to laugh because her voice _was_ nasal, but she quickly brought the laughter under control. The jester was gone then, and she felt relieved that Brigitte wouldn't see him. She began to make the sandwich.

She then looked at the knives in the butcher block trying to come up with a plan. Taking one out and gazing at it, she decided that after making sandwiches, she would leave it here. No telling when the Brigitte's scent wore off, and after what she had done to avoid killing Shannon from paranoia, June Collier refused to be the one to cut Shay's throat under Brigitte's control.

* * *

After checking on her girl-flock, Brigitte now walked back toward the dining room. She had plucked a few, and amused herself with another, reveling the smell of fear. She planned to patrol the boys' wing in a similar manner, later. She realized with surprise that she suddenly felt tired and craved a nap. The last few days and nights had been long. Her energy just moments before had felt endless, but now for some reason, her body and mind craved sleep. She had accomplished all her tasks save one.

_He's still stalking me!_

She still feared Jason, and when she had heard June's screams and had bolted out to attack him earlier, Brigitte was the most surprised of the three. Whatever took her at that moment, she responded seemingly by reflex, but still with enough foresight to break the broomstick to use it as a spear. The revolver only added noise; if she hadn't speared him first, Jason would have quickly figured out that she couldn't aim.

Now she definitely had to come up with a plan regarding Jason. His threat to June being bad enough, Brigitte still loathed Jason's desires. She remembered that Sam warned of her inevitably becoming Jason's doxy .

_No Sam, not on my life!_

This was her castle and it would hold Jason at bay for now until she thought of something better. As she approached the dining room stepping over Myra's corpse, she could hear June in there whispering to her hallucinations, or maybe this time they were actually ghosts. No, hallucinations. Brigitte could hear only June's side of the conversation.

"No, there's a purpose to this," whispered June. She held a plastic trash bag with Shannon's clothes, and it contained a smaller bag with food.

_"Purpose?" said Angie. "Look at how many people are dead now! Nothing this fucked up has a purpose. What this is really about are the loads of guilt you hope to make up for." _

"I prayed! The music answered me!" June cried, no longer whispering.

_"So _now_ you believe in God? Oh, that'll make daddy proud!" said Angie. _

"June," said Brigitte at the door. "Let's go?"

A set of keys dangled from a claw coming from the tip of Brigitte's middle finger. June had no idea where they had come from. Maybe it was a set Brigitte had forgotten to get before? Brigitte wore nothing but fur and blood and could have hardly pulled them out of her pocket.

_"Maybe werewolves have pouches like kangaroos?" said Osama from the television up on the wall._

June began to go.

_"Yeah, you have to obey Brigitte now!" Angie mocked. "_That's_ your _real _purpose. She even said so."_

"Angie, shut the fuck up!" cried June.

"June! Stop with the fucking imaginary friends before you piss me off!" Brigitte growled.

Angie, obeying Brigitte herself, disappeared. The TV had gone blank. June emerged into the hallway, wincing at Myra's bloodied corpse, its eyes open. June did not look closely. At least Myra did not suffer torture as some in the lobby had. She thanked her luck at not seeing anybody else, living or dead. Though the lounge had windows looking out to the hall, and she then saw someone lift a blind and peer out at them. Brigitte turned back that direction and the blind dropped. June wanted to hide in shame.

"Why did you drop my name?" she asked indignantly.

"Because you're intelligent. Come on," Brigitte said.

As she led June, Brigitte sniffed, and said, "So, you made her a processed turkey and mouse-shit sandwich? Very nutritious."

"No," said June, simply. She hoped Brigitte presumed she picked up the odor accidentally and wouldn't ask questions about it. For now, at least, Brigitte knew nothing about the allergy.

_"I bet she can smell your snot," said Angie's voice._

"I gotta tell you," said Brigitte. "I offered her a rat before, and she was pretty ungrateful about it. That happened right down here the room we're going through. Oh, memories!"

They arrived at the door. To June, it seemed so long ago since she and Ginger had followed Brigitte through to the old wings. June felt so much older now, and like a different person in a totally alien world.

Brigitte fumbled with the keys.

_"Maybe werewolves have pouches like kangaroos?" said Osama's voice again._

June laughed out loud. Somehow it was funnier the second time she heard it. Brigitte glared at her; June went silent.

"Fuck it," said Brigitte tossing the keys to June and breaking the door down. When they were inside the dark custodial room, Brigitte threw the door shut behind them. Light came in through fissures in it.

_Meanwhile, June heard a single ping, and saw a lighted arrow above pointing down, like an elevator, and now she felt the room descending. She heard heavy metal music, and laughed._

"What the fuck is so funny?" asked Brigitte.

June gasped out, between laughs, "I'm . . . trapped in an elevator to Hell with you . . . It's like . . . a Spinal Tap love song. Um, not really too funny . . . is it?" She tried to keep from whooping hysterically.

"No! It isn't. Stop it!"

Like a miracle, June's mind obeyed. Her laughter shut down immediately, no effort required. Brigitte extended her toe claws in irritation and tapped them on the floor three times, and they continued to click as she crossed the room. June felt queasy as Brigitte lunged into the door, so hard and rapidly June couldn't count it. The door shattered. The lights in the next room were on. Brigitte went in, and stopped, her toe-claw tapping on the metal landing.

"Holy shit!" said Brigitte, who giggled this time. "She didn't go far." She continued down the steps then stopped, looking back up at June. "Well, come in! What are you waiting for?"

June took a step into the room onto the landing and looked down the long flight of metal steps. Beyond Brigitte, she saw a female corpse lying at the bottom. Brigitte descended and moved out of June's line of sight

_A priest and an angel with rainbow wings knelt next to Laura, hands folded in prayer. _

Brigitte ignored them and called up to her. "I spared her, and she throws herself right down the steps! Talk about wasting your life! Huh, no leg brace."

Still nauseated from the elevator ride, June crept down the steps, and momentarily thought she saw something in the corner of her eye, but overwhelmed already, she did not look. When she drew close enough to compensate for her near-sightedness, she saw that the corpse was Laura's. The priest took his thumb, dipped it in oil and made a cross upon Laura's head as he sang Extreme Unction with the angel sing in harmony:

_De profundis clamo ad te,_

_D-o-mine, D-o-mine, _

_Exaudi vocem meam._

_Erga sacrosáncta humánus reparatiónis _

_Clamo ad te, _

_D-o-mine, D-o-mine . . . _

Laura's eyes were open and colorless; her features were pasty and slightly stretched. June had not really liked her, but began to sob anyway. She heard many interspersing whispers along with the priest's song, like a swarm of insects. Some of them broke above the maelstrom where she could clearly hear phrases.

_"And with her the casualty figures are now two dozen dead . . ." said the documentary narrator._

_ "A woman screamed, falling to her death down the steps . . ." said Lucifer, reading from his book of poems. _

June hadn't time to mourn. She had to follow Brigitte. Though she did not believe in Laura's God, she made the sign of the cross in reverence. It would appease the Eternals.

The girl-wolf stepped around the junk, tossing some out of her path while swearing.

"Brigitte, why are you doing all this?" asked June.

Brigitte stopped and turned to her, staring with orange canine eyes. "Doing what?"

The tone of Brigitte's voice as always was unreadable, as was her lupine face.

_"I think she's fucking with you," said Aristotle's voice._

_ "No, she evidently doesn't understand you," said Plato's voice._

June decided to go with Plato. "Why are you killing and torturing people?"

"Oh, that!" Brigitte said, with a chortle.

"I mean, it's not, like, you . . . or Jason . . . you're not like the legends . . . just mindless beasts. Why are you doing this?"

"You'll understand why when you can smell them. Come on!"

June followed the command, and began to step around the debris, but continued to talk, "Smell people? You're doing it because we stink?"

"Oh, how fucking shallow do you think I am? Of course not!"

"Well, how do we smell then?" asked June.

"You smell cute."

"Me? Oh, cause I'm infected . . ."

_"That's why God makes kids cute," interrupted aunt Rena's voice, "so you don't kill them."_

". . . . how do the rest of us smell?" June continued.

"The smell fucks with your mind, and it's all over everything. . . just everywhere."

"Why take over the place then, and torture people?"

"I don't know, June!" Brigitte snarled. "Because it's right and it feels good. That's why!"

"Right . . . ?"

Brigitte growled and lashed out at her. A single claw nail scored under June's right jaw line, making a stinging, but superficial scratch. She yelped, thinking at first it was far worse, and knew it could have been. June listened to voices still volunteering their opinions.

"I'm fucking tired," said Brigitte. "Jason's still out there, and I have a fucking time limit, for the last time, _come on_!"

June hurried now, hearing frenzied voices.

"_It's somehow instinctive," said a consensus voice of scientists echoing from the lecture hall. _

_ "She can't reason," said Aristotle's voice._

_ "No, she can reason, she just can't be reasoned with," said Plato's voice. _

They had come to the portal leading to the abandoned wings. June followed Brigitte into the hall.

_"See? I told you. Smell _is_ everything," said Ginger._

With the last voice, June looked back into the room for Ginger, remembering how she glanced at something ghostly upon entering the room, but instead of the red-headed ghost, she saw an apparition so outlandish she positively knew it was a hallucination. It had no lower body, just the upper-half of a man floating in the air. It "stood," levitating in place, it's spine whipping beneath it.

"Hey, June honey," said Will, "on the bright side, she treats females better than she treats males."

"JUNE!" Brigitte roared, grabbing her by the shoulder, and throwing her down the hall to crash sprawling into a debris pile. Bruised and moaning, June was learning, as Shannon did, what low status in the pack meant.

The apparition snickered. Brigitte stuck her head back around the doorway and roared. It screamed and darted straight into the puddle without a splash.

"Jack off," Brigitte muttered, walking down the hall to pick June up and shove her forward.

* * *

_*Lyrics: "A Beautiful Lie" by "30 Seconds to Mars."_


	26. Bad Blood

**Chapter 26:**

BAD BLOOD

Lewis and Frank met for breakfast in the same diner as always. Due to the weather, they practically had it to themselves, which suited Lewis just fine.

He looked at the list Frank just handed him and nodded. "So, Monday the dog mutilations stopped Dauphin, but we have reports of them in the surrounding countryside since. And Friday morning a sheep was slaughtered?"

"One slaughtered, another disappeared. And there was at least one other report of missing livestock," said Frank.

"They require a lot of food, unless they go dormant," said Lewis. "Hmm. It looks like everything is happening southwest."

"Yes, I didn't have a chance to plot them on a map."

"This is the only real clue we have. So, after breakfast, you map them while I find this Dr. Lorraine."

"It might take a couple hours to figure out the exact locations," said Frank.

"We don't have to be exact. We're just looking for a trend . . ."

Lewis' phone rang. He recognized the tone. "It's our boss," he said, and then he answered, "Hello, Hiram."

"Good morning Lewis," said Hiram, his voice sounding strained. "I have news. Ben and Wade are heading up to join you."

"What? No!"

Lewis lowered his voice and whispered into the phone, "Absolutely not! Hiram, this has become dangerous! Why are you sending them here?"

"_I'm_ not sending them, Lewis. They're not on my payroll, remember? They volunteered and just called to fill me in. They've already been traveling by car for at least a day."

The last time Lewis had seen the two together was at Hiram's the night they discovered Brigitte's general whereabouts.

"What prompted this?"

"Apparently, Wade has been continuing his own investigation through hacking and uncovered something on one of his networks," said Hiram. "He said this was a completely different avenue of investigation, and since your hands were full, they'd follow it."

"What did he find?"

"Apparently, Henry Fitzgerald is there in Dauphin."

Lewis shook his head, trying to absorb this surprise. "Brigitte's father is up here now?"

Frank, who was eating, paused and gazed at Lewis, shocked.

"Yes, clearly, he's searching for his daughter, and he seems to be close."

"But his timing couldn't be worse!" Lewis said grabbing his forehead.

"Wade said there was far more but he wouldn't tell me what."

"Wouldn't tell you?"

"You're repeating what I say an awful lot, Lewis. No, he wouldn't tell me."

"This is so unlike them."

"It _is_ very odd, but Wade sounded dead serious."

"But they're unprepared for this," said Lewis. "They should have learned from Michael's death."

"I'm as surprised as you are by it."

"Then I'm happy you survived. Was there anything else. Anything that he _did_ tell you?"

"He just said he'd brief you only after he arrives, not before. Now, is there any news from your theater?" asked Hiram.

"We're following a new clue now, but nothing definite, yet."

"Lewis, you've already missed your deadline. Need I remind you of what tonight is?"

"Yes I know," said Lewis.

"You realize the moon rises early? At just three thirty-seven p.m.?"

"Yes, but the process won't be complete until at a least an hour or two after sunset."

"Sunset is at five thirty-five," said Hiram. "If you're lucky, you have only until seven thirty p.m. I don't have to ask Thomas for an estimate to know your odds aren't good."

"I plan to have her found and rescued before this afternoon. Now, if that's all for now, Hiram, I need to be excused so I could call Wade and talk him out of this . . ."

"Oh, yes, he also told me to tell you that they have blocked your cellphone numbers and all numbers from the Dauphin area code . . . " said Hiram.

"WHAT?" said Lewis, this time he didn't whisper, but yelled, his voice rang through the empty diner.

Hiram cleared his throat, ". . . until he arrives. He said you have a very short deadline and his drive is tough. He thought it would be best for both of you if there were no arguments until he's there."

June opened the door to the all-too-familiar prison cell. It had been tough finding the right key. Why Brigitte didn't just break this door too, June didn't know.

_Nevermore, stood on top of the rug, let out a squawk and flew toward the window._

_"Mission accomplished!" he called. _

June watched him fly off.

_ Yeah, decorated commando! Stupid council!_

The temperature had fallen below freezing in the room. Snow swirled around in a cyclone at its center, mixed with dust and debris. Frost glazed the surface of the mildewed rug around the sink.

"Shay!" yelled June, hurrying over.

"June?" said a weak, muffled voice within, "You're back!" she cried with such relief.

June pulled the rug off the clamp and opened the tiny shelter. It reeked of vomit inside.

Brigitte laughed, the smell having reached her immediately. "Been partying a little too hard, Bee?"

"NO! You brought _her?_" said Shannon.

"Shay, she captured me."

"Captured you?" said Brigitte. "You mean I saved your fucking pain-in-ass life . . . _again_!"

"That's one way of looking at it," said June, "but, Shay, I think she was coming here for us anyway."

"Shannon cried, "I'm not coming out with her there!"

June flinched at hearing a snarl behind her. Brigitte shoved her aside, ripped the carpet off, reached under the sink and with one yank threw Shannon out into the middle of the floor.

"Stupid bitch, you're not at home hiding under the covers!" said Brigitte. She turned to June and said, "Get her out of here!"

Shannon writhed in pain, repeating "No! No, No . . . !"

"Shay, come on!" said June.

"I can't stand up!" she said, crying, her teeth chattering, and all her major muscles shivering convulsively.

"Yes you can!" June shouted. "Come on, or you'll freeze," and she added whispering, "or worse! Please, I'll help you."

Shannon cooperated, and with June's substantial help, stood up. Straining with the weight, June glanced over at Brigitte to see her on all fours sniffing underneath the sink. She finished, and with Shannon leaning heavily on June, they all exited.

She sat Shannon on the nearest crate that would support her, but before either of them could say anything, Brigitte pushed June aside and sniffed Shannon, thoroughly, while the tall girl winced repeatedly and sobbed through chattering teeth. Brigitte methodically smelled her face, mouth, ears, underarms, breasts, genitals and feet, and any wound. June cringed repeatedly at this intensive ransacking of Shannon's body. Meanwhile, this room was still cold, and June knew that every second this inspection went on sank the poor girl deeper into hypothermia.

Suddenly Brigitte recoiled with a snarl, went rigid, and dropped Shannon. Her fur fluffed, and she bared her teeth. For a second only her tail moved: it whipped rapidly. June expected Shannon to die, instead, when the half-werewolf broke from her stillness, she forced a word out from her own throat, "Cunnn-t!"

She shoved Shannon onto the crate and then turned to June and said, "Get her dressed," and stormed away.

June showed Shannon what was in the bag. "Shay, here, I brought your clothes down. Winter clothes. You can get warm again. Don't you want that?"

She nodded.

"I bet you're so tired of shivering!" said June.

"Does she . . . have to be here now. . ?" said Shay.

Brigitte shot back, "I've already seen you naked, Bee. I don't like girls, remember?" Her claws slashed into a cardboard box on top of a crate, then she began to lick the dried blood from her arm.

"You know better than to ask that," said June.

"Come on, June!" Brigitte demanded.

She helped Shannon up. The girl's bloody, dirty hospital robe dropped to the floor. Brigitte snickered at the sight, and then occupied herself shredding more cardboard boxes and slashing crates with her claws and then cleaning herself. The slicing, ripping sounds put both girls even further on edge.

Too torpid and shivering to even dress herself, Shannon needed June's help throughout. Her right knee had swollen and had been so badly bruised and skinned that it was painful to get the pant-leg around it. For the most part, she just sat sniffling.

This reminded June. While helping with the pants, she sneaked the bag out of mouse sewage from her coat pocket and took a short whiff as Shannon looked down with dazed curiosity. June sealed it up again quickly, putting it away. In a few moments her nasal passages constricted again.

When she was dressed, Shannon did look relieved. She still shivered, and was lethargic. June knew neither symptom would improve until Shannon's body temperature was right.

"I'm just sorry I couldn't bring you a bath for you, too, Shay," said June, smiling, "but I did bring food."

Brigitte sneered.

"I can't!" Shannon cried. "I'm too sick."

"When did you lose brain function?" said Brigitte. "She puked, and she'll puke again if you feed her."

"For later! When you feel better," said June to Shannon.

"She won't need it."

June's breath caught, while the shivering girl's face went blank. If Brigitte let it slip by accident, they couldn't tell.

"Come on, let's go," said Brigitte.

"What? Where are we going?" asked June.

"Toward the sound."

Both June and Shannon exchanged baffled looks.

Brigitte just paused. "You don't hear it?" She laughed. "Fuck! That's right. You can't, but you will when we get closer. Come on."

The half-beast led them from the room. June helped Shannon walk, but she had entirely the wrong stature for it. They floundered across the room. As they left, June saw a figure in the corner of her eye, but when she turned toward it, nothing was there.

_"Ginger?" she sent by radio._

_ No one answered. _

They struggled through the junk-strewn hall to a set of steps. As they ascended, Shannon had trouble with them while June had trouble with the burden of having to both pull and push her up, until Brigitte came stomping back down and picked the big girl up, and raced up the steps like Shannon were made of helium, while Shannon yelped. When June rounded the landing after them, Brigitte had already arrived on the floor and put Shannon down, teetering.

Then, Brigitte shoved her hard into the wall.

"Your fucking welcome!" growled Brigitte. She stormed away several paces and turned back.

"Enough of this shit! June," she said. "If you don't get your cute little doll to hurry, I'll rip her head off."

Doubled over and holding her head, Shannon sat against the wall, the wind knocked out of her. June had seen the huge bruise across the abused girl's shoulders and knew slamming into the wall had been extra painful, but Shannon hadn't cried out.

Without a word, and with much help from June, Shannon got to her feet again, still having difficulty breathing. June exerted herself, now taking as much of the large girl's teetering weight as she could. While doing so, she thought she momentarily saw a figure on the stairs, but could afford only a short glance, which again revealed nothing.

_"I think something is following you," the corporal volunteered by radio._

They followed Brigitte down the hall, careful to do absolutely nothing to aggravate her. After passing a third set of windows, which showed only a whiteout, they began to hear the screams, continual, guttural howls of agony. They both flinched. As exposed to the supernatural as they had been, they weren't confident that these cries were human. They sounded like something ripped forcibly from the entrails of Hell.

Brigitte turned to them. "Oh, finally you're hearing him? Yeah, he's getting just a little hoarse now. You should have heard him before!"

_"Be prepared to witness the worst crime against humanity the enemy has committed," said the Captain._

Shannon looked like she would faint, and only June's arduous effort kept her moving at a steady pace.

Then, as they drew closer, they heard something worse: a child's incongruous laughter. Both noises came from a door ajar on the right. Brigitte turned, beckoned for them to go in first.

As June entered so encumbered, she initially perceived the spectacle within as though it were a fever dream: a child tormenting a half-dead man, whose otherwise obliterated mind still functioned solely to feel agony. She then hit her elbow, which brought her out of her fugue. Significantly, she heard the doorknob rattle from the impact.

_"Reconnaissance, Rose Petal!" said the Captain over radio. "The council is trying to formulate a plan."_

As Brigitte's and Shannon's attention focused on the scene, June managed to free a hand and furtively touched underneath the door knob, just momentarily. This told her what the council needed to know, and she radioed it. She then had to grab Shay quickly to stop her from falling, and only then did she turn her attention back to the man prone on a low gurney with a child on top of him. The child straddled his shoulders, facing toward his legs, and was bent over low, her arm stuck elbow-deep into a horrible back wound. She giggled madly as he screamed.

Seeing a twisted child like this violated June more than anything she experienced so far. The apparition looked solid to her, but despite its appearance, June sensed that it was no child at all; she couldn't think of it as such. She looked at Shannon and from the return glance knew that she could see the spirit as well, though probably not _as_ well.

"ANNABELLE!" Brigitte shouted over the screams. "Stop! Stop!"

The ghost-child withdrew her hand. The man stopped screaming immediately and just moaned, his face cut and bloodied, his eyes vacuous.

"Mum!" she said. "JJ is so much fun!"

June and Shannon exchanged glances again, mouthing "_Mum?"_

"That's great, honey, but playtime is over. It's JJ's bedtime."

Annabelle stood up on top of him and said, "No! No! No! NO! I was having fun!"

"He's tired, dear. I'd say, you've wrung him out really good."

The ghost made a gasping sound and said, "NO!"

June could see that this spirit was thoroughly insane. Moreover, its colors alarmed her. They shifted with energy, reminding June of her first sight of the bird-skull necklaces, which she now felt warming between her breasts.

"If you're really good now, JJ just might stay here and play with you always! Don't you want that?"

"But he's here now!" said the spirit. "No, I want to play with him!"

"If you don't stop," said Brigitte. "I'll leave you again."

Its child-eyes popped so wide they looked momentarily transparent, and it screamed, "No! Please! Mum don't!" It dropped off the gurney faster than gravity onto its knees and began to cry pitifully at Brigitte's feet. June looked around: the chairs, the windowpanes, the gurney, all shuddered ever so slightly with its keening. The power light on a machine against the far wall, which June hadn't noticed before, also flickered.

"You disobeyed. I'm leaving you now," said Brigitte, with cold cruelty.

It then went flat on the floor screaming in hysterics, "Noo-oo! Come back mum, please, please . . !" and then it dissolved away.

Brigitte said, "Works every time."

"Brigitte, I wouldn't trifle with that thing," said June, her voice shaking.

"Don't help her!" whispered Shannon, who got heavier for June by the second.

"She has the right mindset and needs a mother," said Brigitte. "Why not me?"

"It's more powerful than it looks!" said June gasping with the growing strain.

"Oh, no, I'm not falling for that again," Brigitte replied. "Speaking of falling, get her into a chair!"

There were four chairs in the room in various states of repair.

_"The one with wheels. That's the one you want," said the corporal's voice. _

She put Shannon in it with much difficulty. June felt such relief. Supporting her had required more exertion than June had thought herself capable of. Underneath her bloody coat, she soaked in sweat.

Brigitte tossed her some cord. "Tie her up."

June noticed she didn't automatically obey now. She swiftly began to fake it. Shannon looked doomed now, too tired, cold, beaten and mentally drained to resist.

_"Rose Petal to Captain, I'm free!" she exclaimed over the radio. "So, what's the plan?" _

_ "They're working on it. They need you to send more information," said the corporal. "Continue reconnaissance." _

Meanwhile, Brigitte's had her attention on the man. "Tell me, where does it hurt?" she asked him. "Here maybe?"

June did not look but heard the distinct sound of a claw ripping flesh, but without a scream. Shannon's face registered a vague horror.

Brigitte continued to taunt him as June "obeyed." The room was mostly empty, mostly free of debris. Besides the gurney and the chairs, June glanced at that very old machine against the wall. Both plugged in and on, it showed that the room had power. She glanced next at the door. It was both old and overbuilt. The frame looked very sturdy.

Then, Ginger peaked out at her from behind the door, causing June to nearly fumble the rope. Before she could recover, the red-headed ghost put her forefinger over her lips in the silence gesture.

"_When did you come in?" Rose Petal radioed to her, but received no response. _

Brigitte's attention still being on the man, June put her palm up to Ginger in a halt gesture, then she finished loosely tying Shannon's legs.

Next, she dragged Shannon's hands behind her, as the beaten girl looked down with loathing. She put the ropes around Shannon's wrists, and began to tie a square knot, but instead of finishing the knot, she put the two ends in Shannon's hands and closed her fingers around them tightly. The big girl looked down again, startled, and June patted her and winked before standing up.

When she stood, Brigitte turned her attention from the man. "You got her tied?"

"Yes," answered June.

"Good! Sit down now."

_"The council has its plan," said the Captain. "We're sending it to you now, encrypted."_

June sat down in the chair next to Shannon and within reach of the head of the gurney. Shannon's chair was positioned to her left, but faced the stretcher laterally. June saw that Brigitte had torn into the man's flank, but obviously, he didn't even feel it.

Meanwhile, she began to hear beeps, like Morse code, she had to concentrate on deciphering it.

_Rose Petal forwarded the plan to Ginger and at the end she said, _"_Ginger, be ready! Don't break cover till it's time." _

She had just finished sending it when Brigitte said, "Well, James, do you feel totally fucked yet?"

Shannon looked up, "James?"

"You remember him!" said Brigitte. "So, you fucked him more than everybody else?" She sniffed toward Shannon. "Maybe you did. He seems to be your taste."

Shannon's face began to pinch with indignity. "You . . ."

"Sorry, I forgot to reacquaint you," she picked James' head up by the hair. His eyes rolled around confused. His jaw stayed slack, and his expression stayed terrified. "James, you remember Shannon, don't you?" She moved his jaw and said in a much lower voice. "Who?" She let go of his head.

"Aw, he doesn't remember you, dear. I caught him fooling around on you. It seems he and Max were raping a mutual friend of ours downstairs."

"Who?" asked June, dreading that she already knew the answer.

_"Helen and her fucked up escape plan!" said Rose Petal by radio, forgetting protocol._

"Doesn't matter," said Brigitte.

"No, it does," said Shannon mustering the energy for some anger. "Did you kill her? Did you kill one of my friends, too?"

"I took pity on her," said Brigitte.

Fearing that Shannon might blow it and reveal that she wasn't tied up, June interrupted. "Brigitte, why did you bring us here?"

"To educate you, June."

"In what?" asked June, hoping Shannon's temper was cooling.

"Growing up," said Brigitte, and she then turned her attention back to James. "Now, he might not remember he's a rapist. I gave him a good head-zapping last night." She gestured to the machine. "It's one of those electroshock things, vacuum tubes and everything, before they made them humane."

"Uhhh!" said Shannon.

June almost groaned, too.

"I never saw convulsions before," said Brigitte, "and they are just hilarious. I couldn't get enough of them."

She picked up his head his head again. "Earth to James? Are you ever coming back? No?"

She let his head drop, cut the cords holding his arms and then picked him up. He screamed as she turned him over and dropped him roughly back on the gurney face-up. She then straddled him.

Brigitte yelled to Shannon over his screams, "I'd rip his balls off but he can't feel it anyway. Don't worry, I'll feed them to you later."

She then looked down at him. "So, James, you're so boring now, and that's a capital offense. Let's see . . . can you still feel this?"

She plunged her claw deep inside his mouth.

For June, the plan was ready now, but she froze.

"Don't you dare look away, June," Brigitte commanded, and June had to fake obedience by being obedient.

_What is she trying to teach me?_

_"MOVE NOW, Rose Petal, before you find out!" said the Captain._

She couldn't, she was petrified and was failing on her mission.

As he choked and gagged, his eyes bulged. Brigitte's hand went in up to the wrist.

Suddenly, June had an epiphany. For a short moment, it was as though she was on that stretcher, and Brigitte's claw was force-feeding her pleasure, just jamming it down her throat. Afterward, the scene before her was like pornography so powerfully obscene and pleasurable that she felt she might vomit and orgasm simultaneously.

Now Brigitte slowly opened her claw. Seemingly, she stretched this out for minutes as he turned blue, she spanned it, cracking his bones within. Blood began to flood out around Brigitte's wrist. She breathed hard with euphoria, her fangs bared, her coat fluffed.

June found herself transfixed by the pleasure of blood and agony, and the infliction of blind terror and death. She couldn't think now, and all the voices and music went silent. Her face and body felt pleasantly warm. Her skin tingled, while something deep within her lower gut ached and then pulsed with pleasure. A strong emotional and physical sensation threatened to sweep her away, but somehow she stayed anchored with guilt, nausea and self-disgust.

James' mouth and skull burst. A bit of gore hit June and the chin, and a tooth hit Shannon in the knee. Brigitte continued to splay and contract her claw and then wiggled it deep inside, thoroughly destroying bone and cartilage, turning soft tissue into shreds. Drooling, and with fresh blood on her again, she began to pant. She finally withdrew her bloody paw, and James' body expelled the last air trapped in its lungs with a bloody spray. Brigitte licked her claw glancing at June, who stared transfixed at the discovered beauty she discovered. For June, the light in the room turned different colors before the pleasure passed away, leaving only shock and self-disgust in its wake.

"So, you learned, didn't you?" said Brigitte.

June turned away, breathing hard, her face red. She had.

_"Now you are damned," said Lucifer's voice. _

Shannon had broken down sobbing.

"Aww! Are you crying for him, Bee?" said Brigitte. "You toilet slut!"

She sniffed toward Shannon. "You know, my nose just keeps getting better and better."

Shannon averted her eyes, while Brigitte continued, "Some things were obvious from the very beginning, like anger, or fear, or . . . passion. It all comes out in your sweat. I'm like, fucking, reading peoples' minds.

"But your odor, Shannon, I just could not figure out. All because that bloody-haired cunt lied to me."

June glanced at Ginger behind the door, the red head had taken exception, and looked like she was about to break cover.

_"No, not yet!" radioed Rose Petal_.

To her credit, Ginger did duck back.

"She said you had faerie blood in you, that spirits protected you," Brigitte laughed, "and I believed it! I would have believed in faeries before I thought Ginger would save you! She turned this into a major practical joke, but it's over now."

Brigitte tore another clawful of shredded flesh out of the corpse's head, munched it like it was popcorn, then spit out its tooth. Her tail whipped back and forth. Her body was tensed with building fury.

"Now, I know exactly what you are, Shannon."

Shannon jumped, gaped at her.

Brigitte laughed again, ". . . and I despise your kind. Oh, and you look back so innocent. Congratulations! I know how I'm going to spend my morning, and I'm not outsourcing this one."

She turned to June and commanded, "Roll her over to the machine. We'll start by making her dance."

June stood up and went behind Shannon, beginning to push her toward the machine as Brigitte stuck her paw back into the corpse and ripped out another piece of meat. She popped it in her mouth.

_"NOW!"_ _Said all the voices._

June kicked the gurney and for once caught Brigitte totally by surprise. It rolled, the half-wolf pitched forward, while June pushed Shannon's chair toward the door. Recovering quickly, Brigitte leaped from the gurney, but she pushed too fast and landed sprawling.

Meanwhile, June rolled Shannon out the door, the chair toppled into the hallway. She screamed, "Run Shay! Run!" Brigitte had almost reached her before she closed the door, but Ginger broke cover right on cue and dashed shrieking at the half-beast. Brigitte yiped almost like a puppy, covered her head and ducked, as Ginger merely passed over her, turned and continued screeching. The half-canine roared back and she swiped at the ghost, but when she saw that this Ginger couldn't hurt her, she rushed at June.

The dainty girl had shut the door and spun the loose bolt under the doorknob, which fell out. As Brigitte grabbed her, June pulled the knob off and kicked the shank exposed underneath.

She heard the knob on the opposite side slide out and hit the floor. The kick's backlash knocked Brigitte off balance with her. They stumbled back. Brigitte dropped her and jumped to the door. Her tail snapping like a whip. Finding the knob missing. She scratched the door, snarled, and turned back toward June, who lay on the floor looking up at her. Then she smirked.

Brigitte pounced on her.

With numb fingers, Shannon arduously untied the loose knots around her ankles. The noises told her that June was paying dearly for getting her out. She stood up only by a miracle of adrenaline. Still, June's plan had a fatal flaw: Shannon could not run. She could hobble at under a normal walking pace, where it took a great effort just to avoid falling. She ambled off-balance down the hall and around a corner. June's screams made her want to stop and just hold her ears, but she kept moving. She panted like she was sprinting, and her knee throbbed like it was having a heart attack by itself. Then at once, the screaming behind her ceased. She heard only the ever-present sound of the wind and her own panting.

_She'll hear me; she'll smell me! I hope she kills me quickly. _

Seconds later, she heard the door being pummeled. The pounding sounded thunderous. As she reached a "T"in the hall and began to cross it, a sideways glance at something in darkness almost made her tumble over with surprise. She turned her head to look at it . . .

The door was harder to break than Brigitte expected. When it finally gave, she stumbled out and kicked the chair down the hallway. She had already caught the direction of Shannon's scent going the opposite way and bolted after her.

Brigitte yelled down the hall. "Shannon! You can run but you can't, um . . . I guess you can't run either, can you?"

However, Brigitte already knew that something was amiss: she couldn't hear Shannon. She followed the scent swiftly around a corner and down further, to where the hall came to a "T," but there Shannon's trace evaporated, too. Brigitte double-backed and turned at the "T," but she smelled nothing of the girl in this direction either, as though the large girl reached this intersection and fell out of existence. So much did Brigitte rely on smell now, that this baffling failure distressed her. The fur on her shoulders stood up. No way Shannon had this kind of power. When the anxiety passed, she went totally still and listened. She should have been able to hear Shannon moving, breathing, or even shivering but she heard nothing, except June and the sound of the wind.

Knowing what Shannon was, Brigitte could not just let her go, but she longed to be done with this so she could go to sleep. This had now become a serious hunt instead of a fun kill.

_Why the fuck is everything so much work? _

_ Oh, because of June. That's why._

She went back down the hallway to finish dealing with her fickle pack sister.

Back in the room, June began to move again. She lifted her hands and looked at them with the only eye she could see through. She had used her hands to defend herself, and Brigitte had bitten them. As she watched, the bites were beginning to close up.

_I've been infected three times in twenty-four hours. _

The infected wounds would heal quickly, but she didn't know if that would work for her many other injuries. So far, nothing else felt better. Her face had taken the brunt of Brigitte's wrath. As she lay on her back, blood ran from her nose and lips down her cheeks. She dared not touch her nose to see if that was broken. Brigitte had not spared June's breasts the punishment. Their size and the deep bruising made even the slightest movement painful. She also suffered a single, insulting, excruciating wound from Brigitte's claw, inflicted simply for torture.

Brigitte came back into the room and knelt down next to her, going through her pockets and taking out all the keys she had given earlier.

"So, now you had another lesson," said Brigitte. "Similar to how I learned."

She put the keys in a pile and then looked through them until she found the particular set. She stood up, and dropped it on June, who yelped, groaned and took them off the tender area.

"You can't go back to the ward now, June. They'll kill you. So, you're on your own," said Brigitte. "Straight down the hall, that way. There's a room with a big metal door and an iron frame. Lock yourself in there, and you'll be safe tonight."

June could not believe what Brigitte had just admitted.

"Jason's invited?" she whispered.

Brigitte jumped like she'd been punched, and then kicked her back. She picked up the rest of the keys and stormed out, leaving June alone clutching her thigh and groaning in pain.

She dared not shift on her side, it would be so painful. She looked at the corpse, with its jaws destroyed, for a long time, relieved that she did not feel any pleasure staring at it now.

_Maybe it was a fluke? Maybe it won't happen again?_

But she knew it would. She would never see another creatures' blood, wounds or pain in the same way now. She cried, tears mixed with the blood drying on her face.

"Captain, please, help me! Please! How do I stop this?" She shouted, so hard that it hurt all over her torso.

Her voice echoed in the empty room. Then silence.

"Somebody answer me please!"

Nobody did.


	27. The Trace

_**A/N 12/15/10:** I've gone back and made a few changes in chapter 26 to make it consistent with this one. Just a few. I changed some compass directions mentioned there, and I made June's injuries a bit more explicit. _

* * *

**Chapter 27:**

THE TRACE

"I'm afraid I can't discuss a patient's case with just anyone who says he's a private investigator," said Dr. Lorraine over the phone to Lewis.

"I understand," said Lewis, he paced in the small hotel room as he spoke. "I'd drive out to your house now and show you my license, but first I need to know: did Dr. Gadepalli ever discuss his cases from Regional with you?"

"No, he didn't. Our discussions were only about patients in Four Point."

"Are you aware that Dr. Gadepalli's missing?" he asked.

"No, Javed is missing?" she said, her voice surprised.

"His family hasn't heard from him since yesterday morning. He doesn't answer his satellite phone, and its GPS isn't working either. You haven't heard from him since yesterday morning, have you?"

"No, I haven't heard from him."

"Do you know where he could be?" asked Lewis.

"No."

"Was there anyone else at Regional he might have talked to?"

"Perhaps Dr. John Kragmeier," she said.

"I've already spoken to him," said Lewis.

"Please, let me call his family."

"That's all the questions I have right now, anyway, thank you doctor. Do you have my number on your phone?"

"Ye-es," she said.

"Please, me a call immediately if you hear from him. This is urgent. The girl I'm looking for is in immediate danger."

Lewis also gave the doctor Arthur's number as well and then ended the call. He turned to Frank, who was sitting at the table in their hotel room with a laptop.

"So, Frank, what do we have?" he asked as he sat down next to him at the small table.

"I have it plotted," he said, and turned the laptop so Lewis could see. "Man, they do eat a lot! The letters represent the day of the week, the colors represent the kind of animal, green being dog, red being sheep . . ."

"Do you have the wind direction on there, too?"

"Yes, the arrows are on the left side according to day."

Lewis looked at the map of the surrounding areas to Dauphin and said, "Hmm. He meanders around highway ten until Tuesday, when the wind changes west. Then he goes overland southwest. Until yesterday . . . where he's west-southwest of Gilbert Plains . . . and that's where the sheep were killed?"

"Yes, and then the blizzard blew over everything," said Frank.

Lewis paused. "This isn't a normal range pattern."

"It's not?"

"No, this has to be Jason alone. He waits around highway ten because likely he saw her leaving in that direction. Then the wind changes, and look at how carefully he's moving. Normally they cover more than sixty kilometers a night, minimum. He _is_ still looking for her then. "

"Couldn't she be with him?" asked Frank.

"No. At this stage she would be staying put and hiding, and he would be bringing her kills, but I've never seen a courtship like this. Usually, it just lasts a few days."

"How can he be find her at a distance?"

"Smell, Frank. His sense of smell is better than a bear's, which can smell a fresh carcass at thirty kilometers, and her scent is full of pheromones that bring him right to her."

"You know this?" said Frank, skeptically.

"Yes, rescues have told us, and you'll smell it yourself, if you get close enough, but I suggest you don't," said Lewis.

Frank looked back at the computer. "Well, the trail ends Southwest of Gilbert Plains."

"So, what's there?" asked Lewis.

"Nothing, as far as I can tell," said Frank. "Just sheep pastures and scenery."

"Think we've learned all we can from dead animals. We know what he's been up to. Now we need to find out about her. Let's check Gilbert Plains police reports."

"For what?"

"Assaults, Frank. Just plain old people-beating-people."

* * *

_Rose Petal lay in a field hospital on a blanket. She heard shooting and artillery fire close. Other wounded were in cots all around, many cried with grave wounds and missing limbs. The sun shone down on her in a single beam spotlighting her lower belly through a tear on the canopy above her bedding. _

_ The corporal knelt next to her, giving her comfort. He was dressed in an impeccable uniform. He opened up small, flat, wooden box to show her a golden star with a ten-color tassel. _

_"The council sent me with this; you've been awarded the Reilly Cross." He closed it again furtively, put it away and whispered. "Congratulations! You'll receive it when the mission is done."_

_He took her slack hand and squeezed it. His hand was large and so soft and warm. After a second, she firmed her grip on it. She wanted so much for him to embrace her, though she knew it would hurt. _

_ An artillery shell sounded much louder. She could feel the earth shake. _

"Am I going to change? Does the council have a cure?" she asked.

_ "Not yet," he said. "But they want you out. That's why I'm here to tell you to use the keys." _

"If I'm going to change next month, what good will it do?"

"Oh, shit! June!" said a female voice.

June turned her head in surprise, "Ginger!"

The red head stood on the opposite side of June's bedding, dressed as a nurse."You look _so_ bad," said Ginger, without any bedside manner.

"Thanks," said June. She turned her head back toward the corporal again, just wanting to consume his gaze.

"I'm sorry I didn't stay," said Ginger, who sat down on the ground, "but she would have just beat you worse if I did. Fuck! My sister's a bigger bitch than I was!"

June turned slightly back toward her. "And she says you admire her. Is that true?" said Rose Petal, trying to handle her headache.

"No!" said Ginger. "Well, a little, sometimes."

_ "I have to go," said the corporal._

_ "_No, don't leave me, please!" said Rose Petal.

"I'm not leaving you," answered Ginger puzzled, watching June grasp at nothing.

_ He whispered into June's ear, "I have to. I'm under strict orders to never fall into enemy hands. I know too much. There is a cure . . . not injected or consumed, but earned like a medal." _

"June?" said Ginger.

"Shhh, don't interrupt him!" said Rose Petal. "His scene's really important!"

"Uhh um . . ."

_The corporal continued, "You just have to survive and wait." He gestured toward Ginger, "She will deliver the message to you, but it's not activated in her mind, yet. When you hear it, it's very important that you remember your oath and purpose." He kissed her forehead, sending tingles through her._

"What oath? I still don't know what the purpose is!" June shouted, but her voice just echoed in the room; he and field hospital had disappeared, except Ginger. The shouting had hurt. June's had not moved since Brigitte had beaten her. How long ago? She did not know, but at least not long enough for James' corpse to grow any worse. Ginger now wore a black dress instead of an army nurse's uniform. She did not wear the bird skull necklace anymore, which was logical, as June wore both.

Ginger said, "When I hid behind the door, you spoke to me inside my mind! How did you do that?"

"Tesla," June whispered, beginning to move, painfully.

"What?" said Ginger.

"Subspace radio," June answered. "When you meet Tesla, he'll explain it."

"Oh," said Ginger, looking baffled.

"Oath?" June whispered, mishearing her. "Oh, yeah, what did he mean by oath, Ginger?"

"Who?"

"Don't be _that_ secretive."

"You mean your oath to us?" asked Ginger.

"You and who?"

"Brigitte and I. You joined our pact. Don't you remember? I heard you when you woke me out of the cold and dragged me back from the grave. You had a whole big ritual that raised me again. Now, how the fuck did you do all _that_?"

"Just like you do. I just follow orders, but I don't remember how I did it!"

Ginger blinked, confused. "You have a wicked singing voice, too! June, you haven't been honest with me. What are you, really?"

June didn't answer and didn't listen further to Ginger because the pain was severe as June struggled to stand. She began to cough. The coughing hurt so much it made her cry. She dry-heaved and spit out blood, then wiped her bloody nose on her coat sleeve. Brigitte had clawed through her jacket, and June had a large spot of partially-dried blood on her shirt. She feared the bloody clothes would get completely stuck to the wound, but she dared not touch near it.

The bird skulls had blood on them; June was surprised Brigitte had not taken them.

_"Don't screw your sister!" Brigitte shouted right in her face. _

June came out of the flashback, staggering. Ginger gawked at her saying, "Oh, June, I'm so sorry!"

"Need water!" June rasped, using a chair for support and balance; her vision swam.

"I think I know where she gets it."

* * *

Furious and more tired than ever, Brigitte had been through the halls in the whole wing, but found neither sound nor trace of Shannon anywhere. She now felt like a blind girl looking for a flea on an elephant. She had called Shannon's name, taunted her, trying to get her to accidentally break cover, but to no avail.

_Something is hiding her!_

Brigitte had given up and was walking to her lair when through an open door she saw barely-visible figure kneeling in the dim light. She should have smelled or heard it first, so she snarled in surprise. She understood why it had no scent or breath when she looked directly at it: _no shadows._

The apparition looked solid. Brigitte walked in with her toe claws retracted for silence. She knew this room as she knew every one in her territory, a large, empty abandoned chapel, with two broken pews, one on either side of the aisle. The boarded, stained glass windows let a single, ray of dim, blue and yellow light shine in on the floor in front of the female ghost. Everything lay covered in a thick layer of undisturbed dust. The figure knelt in the center of the chapel, facing a cross on the far wall, head bowed.

"I'm looking for someone. A tall girl . . ."

"And I haven't seen her!" said the spirit dismissively.

Brigitte growled with reflex rage. Ghosts had mostly adored her, but there were exceptions: Will and Helen, two she actually killed. Brigitte walk up and around it.

"Laura!" said Brigitte, surprised. "Isn't it too late for you to be praying?"

"Isn't it too early for you to be changing?" Laura shuddered before looking directly at Brigitte. She stayed on her knees, her face drawn as though she had a headache.

Brigitte laughed. "Aren't we both freaks of nature now?"

"It's not Judgment Day, so it's not too late for prayer, but I know you don't understand prayer and you scoff at God, because you're a thing of evil."

Brigitte snorted "Not evil, just wicked," she said, as she sat down on the floor, without using her arms, putting her tail on her thigh. "And you're just a ghost pretending to be an angel. I'm not like this because I didn't pray; I'm like this because I tried to help somebody unworthy of it."

"Why do you torture?"

"How do you know I torture?"

Laura's posture went stiff. She didn't answer.

Brigitte stood swiftly and gracefully, her tail swished once and then and pointed at a downward angle, as she said, "You were following us. Back, way down the hall. That was you! You're hiding her!"

"Who?" asked Laura.

"It's too late to deny it."

"How would I ever hide her?"

Brigitte eased her posture, but her tail still angled downward behind her, unmoving. "I don't know, ghosts seem to have some strange powers."

Still on her knees, Laura smirked. "You're so wrong, and you can't hurt me anymore. You might as well go away." She averted her eyes back to the cross and started moving her lips.

Brigitte assented. "Hey, you're ri . . . " then, she lunged roaring at Laura.

The ghost rolled out of the way with a surprised yell, not allowing Brigitte to pass through her, but the surprise worked. For an instant, Brigitte vividly heard and smelled Shannon, then it was gone.

"Oops!" said Brigitte. "You slipped!" She pointed a claw nail at Laura and growled."I was right! You're concealing her." Brigitte looked around, and began to bluff. "She's somewhere very close."

"So?" said Laura, now standing holding her arms together at the wrists, her face strained. "She's where you'll never find her with your eyes alone, and you can't even touch me."

A frustrating development: it seemed that, unlike Ginger, Laura knew right away that she was faster than a werewolf.

Brigitte howled, an attempt to panic Shannon, and in between taunted, "Shannon, I can smell you! I'm coming to get you! You can hide but you can't run!"

Laura kept a poker face and stayed silent as Brigitte did this. When it didn't work, she said to Laura, "Did you listen in on us, too?" asked Brigitte. "You don't even know what you're hiding."

"I don't care. She's poor suffering creature who hasn't hurt me, while you create nothing but suffering, _and you broke my arm, you bitch!_"

She bent her arm between the elbow and shoulder.

"You seem to be coping," said Brigitte. "Her kind is far worse than me. "

"So what _is_ _she_?"

"Oh no, I'm not telling you."

"Then I think you're crazy," said Laura.

"How naughty for psych nurse to say that! I know ghosts, and, you have short burn-times. You've been protecting her a long time now. Aren't you feeling just a bit cold? I could stay here until you run out of steam."

"Actually, no. It seems all your killing has released some kind of energy. That's why most the spirits are fascinated with you; you're like their crack dealer. So, really, right now, I'm full of energy, and _you_ look very tired. And you need a bath! The blood you're wearing is getting crusty."

Brigitte growled with frustration. Here she faced someone who she could not terrorize, overpower or kill.

"You can't hold out forever. I'll just nap right here." said Brigitte.

"What if I don't let you go to sleep?"

The spirit had her checked. "Look, you don't want her to suffer; I'll make it quick. You're dead, and it's not all that bad, is it?"

Laura laughed bitterly. "Frankly? I wouldn't wish this on anyone. The longer she goes without experiencing this, the better."

With that, Brigitte lost her temper. She roared, snarled and turned away punching the confessional behind her, shattering the door, and she then picked up a pew and threw it into the wall, shattering it, too. Behind her back, Laura had raised her eyebrows. This didn't even look difficult for the werewolf. Foaming and seething, Brigitte turned toward her, as Laura affected a deadpan expression.

"Fuck!" Brigitte shouted, "First Ginger, then June, and now you! Why does everybody want to save this raggedy cum-bucket? She must really have some kind of real power. Maybe her kind actually does."

"No, your kind just doesn't understand compassion," said Laura.

"Bigot!" Brigitte sneered with a growl then stormed toward the door. She stopped and turned. Laura had already turned away. "It doesn't matter what you do for her now. She's dead, fucking dead!"

With that Brigitte stomped out, stormed through the hall and up the steps to her lair on the third floor, wanting nothing in the world anymore except sleep. Shannon was an abomination but not a threat. Brigitte no longer thought of the pain of her final changes. Now, she feared her dreams most but had to sleep anyway.

Back in the chapel, Laura knelt down again and continued to pray.

* * *

June knelt and hand-ladled water from a bucket, drinking from her cupped hands, which were almost going numb with the coldness. She then washed her face and rinsed her bloody mouth and nose. The water fell through the grate immediately beneath her. Then she began to soak her swollen left eye and all the bruises on her face.

Ginger stood behind her, reciting, _"'_With my blood, I join the bond; With my blood, I mend the bond; The bond one will can never break; With my will, the bond be strengthened; Stronger than the hold of death . . . .' don't you remember?" asked Ginger.

No, June did not remember. She knew she had gone through the last day, maybe longer, in a manic psychosis. The episode appeared to be over and a lot of things were hazy. She now heard no music, odd sounds or voices, only the water dripping, the muffled sound of the wind, and Ginger's voice, but other than those, a disturbing pall had settled on everything. She felt so tired and hurt. Her manic had been very short this time. Now she possibly risked an equally fast and extreme depression. She had never reached the depressive phase before; the manic that put her in the hospital had been her first cycle, but doctors warned her the depression would come.

June tried to absorb the meaning of what Ginger had told her.

_I raised the dead when I was manic!_

She had just been following orders from her hallucinations. How did they know how to do that, down to the very words of the incantation, partially in a different language? June felt too pressured and hurt to ponder it now, but she had a guess: _The necklaces._

She stood up and stretched her neck; she saw that the basement room was lit by a single beam of light coming from a gap in the boarded window way above. The water dripped from further up, through the light beam and into the bucket, which Brigitte had apparently set on the grate.

Carefully fingering her swollen eye, she thought her orbital bone might be chipped. She was thankful her nose didn't seem to be broken but a few teeth on the right side felt loose. The previous cuts and lacerations on her ankles and legs were scabbed solidly against her denims. Worse, she even had aches in her mid-section and back, which she presumed came from the escape and from the strain of supporting Shannon.

_Maybe Brigitte meant for my body "learn," too, by the exercise? Maybe she was trying to speed the process? _

If so, so far it had been a failure, but June did not know where she had found all that strength. Without even doubting it she had done far more than she would have thought herself capable.

_"Do I make my point?" Brigitte roared into June's face as a claw nail sank deeply in . . . _

The flashback ended, and June found herself on her aching knees again listening to her own scream echo back. Just screaming had hurt.

"June!" said Ginger. "Are you O—uh . . . "

"No Ginger, I'm not okay," said June, her hands shaking. "My body and mind are fucked, and . . . I'm infected with what you had!"

June saw the ghost's eyes mist up. "I know. What are we going to do?"

"Fuck! If only I had known she had planned to take this over place. Man, your little sister thinks big!"

"I never knew," said Ginger.

June wondered if she had heard pride. "As it is, I bailed her out of a mess where I thought she might kill a few people, and instead I got many more people killed!"

"It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, it wasn't," said June, dubiously. She struggled back to her feet, "Ginger, when does the moon rise tonight?"

"How would I know?"

"Because you're a ghost of a werewolf, and I don't have anybody else to ask!"

Ginger said after a pause, "It doesn't happen when the moon rises anyway."

"What?"

"On the night I . . . changed, Brigitte and I were hiding together in a room at school when the moon came up. We both knew the exact time, and you fucking bet our eyes were glued to the clock. We couldn't leave school. There were still too many people around and I looked . . . wild. The time came around, six-eleven, and, fuck! I really did feel it and it scared the shit out of Brigitte, but it all died down. We relaxed and thought it would maybe happen the next month. Man, were we ever wrong!"

"When did the change happen then?"

"My memory gets a little hazy after moonrise, but I guess more than an hour afterward."

June needed to sit or lean. She trudged toward the steps as she said, "She's letting Jason in tonight."

Ginger sounded outraged. "No! She couldn't be!"

June leaned on the railing while Ginger moved in front of her again. "She warned me that she is!"

"That's not like Brigitte!"

June knew laughing at Ginger would hurt, so she hissed instead. "She's changed, Ginger, and more so since, like, four hours ago."

"No, Brigitte hates him. She wouldn't do that."

"This is the last part of her personality collapsing here, Ginger. Some things aren't disgusting to her anymore."

"That's too deep for me," said Ginger, who then looked away and said, "Shit! But I think you're right. Sounds exactly like what I went through!"

"I've met Jason, and _he's_ not a B-movie werewolf; he's a blockbuster werewolf.

"I know," said Ginger, ruefully. "He's grown up."

"And he hates me now."

"Why?"

"Cause I gave him a bloody nose," said June. "So, she told me to lock myself up tonight, gave me a set of keys," June took them out of her pocket and showed them, "and told me where to lock myself in."

Ginger looked down. "I understand, you're too beat up . . . "

"Except I'm not going to do it!" June declared, as she limped up the steps.

"What?"

Through her weak voice, June fumed, "Fuck her! I'm not locking myself up safe while thirty people die. If I can't save her, I'm not throwing three dozen other people to her!"

As June staggered up the steps, Ginger practically teleported to her side and asked, "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

"First," June said, pausing to cough, which brought tears to her eyes again, "I gotta find the lobby without cutting through the ward . . . because your fucking sister made them all hate me there," Her voice trailed off to a whisper, as she continued to talk and drag herself up the steps, until she stopped in the middle; it was _so_ painful to move.

"She's your sister, too, now!" Ginger retorted.

"Fuck!" said June, realizing she didn't know what direction to go in, and that getting there would be painful all the way. "This might be a problem!"

* * *

Lewis could feel how close they were to breaking the case before they fell into a bureaucratic pit.

They found that the Gilbert Plains police posted their incident reports only on Monday. So, police reports from the previous week were neither online nor in the database yet. He and Frank had to go to the Dauphin police station and request to Arthur that they be faxed in, but Gilbert Plains fax was broken. So Lewis then requested that they be scanned into the computer, but nobody on duty at Gilbert Plains had access to the password, nor permission to do it since they only did it on Monday. With Arthur's urging, the Gilbert Plains station finally used the fax machine at the clothing store next door, the owner's son was on the force, but due to the snow, that business was closed. So they had to call the owner and wait for him to let them in.

In the meantime, Frank occupied himself on the laptop improving his map and checking other maps and satellite photos. Lewis looked for other clues on the police database, but found nothing helpful.

Precious hours had passed before they received the reports. To himself, Lewis cursed every minute of the delay. When they finally had them, with Arthur's permission, they went to an empty office to look through them by hand. They had a particular type of assault to look for: a female culprit, no money taken, attacking without a weapon but causing heavy injury to the victim. There were other, special things to look out for, such as biting or clawing.

After ten minutes, Lewis looked at the clock and it was already past one. When he looked back down, the report before his eyes jolted him.

"Frank, look," said Lewis, he sat down and looked at it more closely. "Female perpetrator, no weapon. 'Subject sustained internal-abdominal injuries from lower body punches.' The victim's name is Philip Werthkamp. Suspect is Beatrice Kirkpatrick. Is Kirkpatrick familiar to you, Frank?"

"Like Brigitte's alias, Polly Kilpatrick, at the motel," Frank recalled.

"She might have used the alias, but her nickname to her sister was 'Bee." Lewis read more, "No arrest made. "'No suspect statement taken due to UTI.' 'Victim not pressing charges.' How strange!"

Frank read over his shoulder. "'Case referred to Interlake Mental Health Authority for further investigation?'"

Lewis read more and suddenly became excited. "I could see why they'd do that! Look at the name of the crime scene, Frank!"

Frank read it. "Four Point Youth Psychiatric Hospital."

"Gadepalli's business! Let's see exactly where it is."

It only took a second for Frank to switch out of the program he was in, and a few more moments to type Four Point's address in. They both stared at the thumbtack icon and saw something familiar about its surroundings.

"Can you overlay the map you made onto this?"

When Frank did this, they both saw that Four Point's location matched the area of Jason's last kills.

"Call Regional Hospital right now!" Lewis snapped. "Find out if Werthkamp is still there. If he is, go there immediately and have him Photo-ID Brigitte."

As Frank dialed, Lewis brought Dr. Lorraine's number up and had it ringing and ringing. Lewis grew exasperated. "How could she not be answ . . ."

He reached her answering machine, which went through its announcement.

He then said, "Dr. Lorraine, this is Lewis Butler again. We now think the girl actually might have been admitted to Four Point this week under the assumed name of Kirkpatrick or Kilpatrick. I'm going to send a picture of her to your cell. She's fifteen in the picture, seventeen currently. Look at it as soon as you get this message and call me back right away. Please, doctor, this is now a matter of life and death."

While Lewis looked up Four Point's number, Frank was just ending his call. He then got up zipped up his coat and put his hat on. "Werthkamp's there, So I'm on my way."

"Good, hurry," said Lewis, waiting for his next call to connect, "I'm calling Four Point, and after that . . . "

Lewis froze, and the color drained from his face.

"Lewis? What's wrong?"

Lewis heard a fast busy-signal.

"Four Point's phones are out," he said. His voice quavered slightly.

"It's a really bad storm," said Frank.

Though Frank was right, a remote, dreadful possibility had come to Lewis immediately and had jolted him before his rational mind had kicked in.

_No! She couldn't have managed it._

* * *

**_A/N: 12/15/10:_**_ My writing procedure has become more detailed and defined since I began this project. I edit the chapters much more now than before. On the final edit, there was one bit of dialog that I realized just did not fit character. I realized it was something that I wanted to say but not something the character would have. _

_Writing the raw text is the fun part. All the readings and editings, additions and modifications afterward are drudgery. But I hope it's worth it; I hope people are enjoying this. And don't worry: the ending is coming soon. _

_One note: for the record Lewis' assertion that a bear can smell a fresh carcass at 30 kilometers is generally incorrect, but it is true of one species, the silverback bear. It was too fine a distinction for Lewis to make at the time. _


	28. Only Human

**_A/N 1/11/11:_**_ I don't believe it took 26 days to finish this chapter, but believe me, it wasn't laziness. I was really working at it, slacking off somewhat between the holidays. Many scenes did not make the cut this time- though I still worked on them. Maybe now that I have so much time I'm over-thinking my writing. _

_In this chapter, though, the story gets to be a little more like H. P. Lovecraft. There's a creature here that you probably haven't seen in another film or story.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 28:**

ONLY HUMAN

Inside the chapel, Laura finished praying and stood up in a blink. Curiously, she walked forward into the narrow beam of light gleaming in from between the boarded windows and let it shine on her. She looked at her belly, no spot of light showed there. She looked down and behind her, the spot shone there oblivious to her, as though she did not exist at all. She looked away, shuddered and shook her head.

She knew Shannon needed water, food and medical help. Moving her would be a risk, but Brigitte had gone to the third floor, and Laura had heard nothing from there in a long time. Her hearing was probably as acute as Brigitte's; she doubted the werewolf could be lying in wait for them.

Turning soundlessly, she glided to the back of the chapel, disturbing no dust, leaving no footprints. She gazed at the dusty floor, _shifted her mind; _the illusion fell away, and the thick layer of dust also shifted revealing footprints all around, then a seam, and finally a door. She had seen a crawl space like this in a chapel before, for the maintenance of organ pipes.

She stroked her fingernails over the door and _shifted her mind hard _until she finally made a light scratching sound. The door opened slightly. Laura put her face down to the crack and whispered, "Slowly!"

Pushing the door as slowly and silently as possible, Shannon emerged wide-eyed and panting noiselessly. Laura had a limit to the noise she could cancel. She put index finger her lips and mouthed, _"Quiet!"_

Finally out of the terrible confinement and free from Brigitte, Shannon calmed down after a time, and with difficulty, lifted herself out to sit on the floor. The ghost pointed to an area of undisturbed dust, and with her finger traced the barely visible the words in three lines, _"Shes gone/ but shell be back/ come with me."_ Had she known her voice was totally inaudible beyond the room even to the werewolf's ears, she wouldn't have bothered.

The injured girl almost answered aloud, but the spirit swiftly made a halt gesture in front of her lips and then a writing gesture over the dust.

_"Where"_ Shannon traced.

_"Ward" _Laura answered.

Shannon almost cried out and fell back into the crawl space as Laura suddenly reached out and touched her face.

* * *

Lewis had arrayed his weapons on the bed to his right. They included a double-barreled and a pump-action shotgun, two glocks, two magnums, three battle knives and more.

He had paused in mid-conversation, his cellphone to his ear while he sat staring at the computer screen, which showed a satellite picture of Four Point. It stood in the countryside like the Taj Mahal, an old, massive structure. So much interior space, so many places for the werewolves to hide and set ambushes. Most of it would be dark, but only for the hunters, not for the werewolves.

"Are you still there?" said Hiram from the phone.

"Yes, sorry, I'm still here."

With frustration edging into his voice, Lewis continued, "Gadepalli's motives are unclear, but he had at least one accomplice. He totally cocked this up. Without him, I would have found her the first day. Now . . . Hiram, we have a catastrophe."

Lewis kept his grief about Brigitte far from the surface. He knew he had lost her. His efforts to lessen the consequences his blunder of two years before had totally failed.

_I might as well have tortured and murdered her myself._

"What's the scenario?" asked Hiram.

"It's the worst case. Four Point is eighty kilometers away. We can't possibly reach it in this blizzard before Brigitte has fully animalized. The second werewolf, Jason, is there as well. There's apparently courtship. I assume she'll let him in if she hasn't already. There are thirty-five mentally-ill teenagers there, twenty-two males, thirteen females, and an unknown number of staff. Contact with the hospital has been lost: the phones are out, there's no cellphone coverage, the radio doesn't answer, and the staff is trained to use it in a storm like this."

Lewis didn't have time for the despair he felt. The patients had to be rescued, but given the periodic shakiness in his hands and his growing tendency to lose attention, he questioned his fitness for this anymore.

"What makes you certain that it isn't the storm?"

"Because apparently nobody on the night shift, or at least a sample of it Frank has called, has come home or has been heard from, including two who actually had a radios in their cars. I'll sum this up for you, Hiram: _I think they might kill every patient there tonight."_

After a pause Hiram said, "But we've never seen them that unrestrained before."

"Because they fear our numbers, organization and weapons. We already know that they hate us, Hiram; they would commit mass genocide on us if they could . . . and here, they can. These two know they can disappear into the wilderness when they're done and nobody would be able to explain what happened. It's a psych hospital, and they understand survivors' stories are going to be doubted, and it's a full moon, so the werewolves will be even more unrestrained."

Hiram paused, then cleared his throat. "Do you think this Dr. Lorraine is trustworthy?"

"I haven't determined her level of guilt yet, but so far she seems to be cooperating fully. She claims that Fitzgerald's uncle and guardian had checked her in after consulting with Dr. Gadepalli the previous week."

"Uncle?" said Hiram with distaste. "But how is it that the staff didn't notice anything physically strange about her?"

"They had, or at least Dr. Lorraine had. She said Fitzgerald's chart had more special instructions in it than she's ever seen. The staff was advised that they were dealing with someone with a genetic disorder and were ordered to record, but otherwise ignore her physical anomalies. They were to observe her behavior and take detailed notes, which were put in a special file for Gadepalli's eyes only, and they were under strict orders to discuss Fitzgerald only behind closed doors and with Gadepalli present."

"So, he knew she was a werewolf?"

"That's what's so strange. To judge by the way he handled her, no. Like I can't imagine putting an _intermediate_ into group therapy! That could have ended in a bloodbath. Fitzgerald was supposed to be transferred to a facility in Vancouver. The very morning she disappeared somebody was supposed to pick her up. Dr. Lorraine herself didn't even know this, but saw it in the chart yesterday, before Dr. Gadepalli removed it. I don't know anything about this 'uncle' character, but there was some larger plan afoot. We just don't have time to look into it."

"Maybe that's the angle Wade is following," said Hiram.

"Have you spoken with him again?"

"No," Hiram said, then sighed, almost wheezed. "He doesn't answer me, now, either. Have you learned anything else?"

Frank opened the door and entered, carrying three large shopping bags, his coat covered with snow. He closed the door quickly when saw all the weapons out on Lewis' bed, then he put the bags down on his. He took an empty knapsack out of the bag and laid it on the bed first removing the tags.

"No, I think that's all, Hiram. I have to brief Frank, and then we're leaving."

"Lewis, when it's done, report in as soon as you can," said Hiram.

"Frank has your number now, too. We're going to be out of cellphone range, and since you didn't spring for sat phones, we'll be out of contact. You know who to inform if we don't report in by Wednesday."

"I hope that won't be necessary, Lewis," said Hiram.

"And if you don't hear from either of us, you'll have no problem finding out how it ended. Just tune into the news."

"If that's all, goodbye and good luck, Lewis. I look forward to talking to you again."

"Goodbye Hiram," He ended the call with a morbid feeling that this would be the last time they'd speak. Perhaps it was because Hiram had never wished him good luck before.

"You really think it's that bad?" asked Frank, skeptically.

"I see you've got our lighting," said Lewis, evading the question. "Now we're going to be inside, so be very careful tonight with those flares, Frank. Use them only when absolutely necessary; don't start any fires."

"Why not just use night-vision goggles?"

"I actually have a pair in my car, but they're of limited use. Werewolves are very fast, and peripheral vision is crucial against them."

* * *

In the dark, subterranean halls, June began to cry from both emotional and physical pain. It caused her left eye to throb, but the tears seemed oddly natural and comforting in the midst of all this macabre weirdness. She held on to the absurd hope "the Corporal" hallucination had given her, and even her deteriorating mood could not totally undermine it.

Ginger could see in the dark, and June could see Ginger, but almost nothing else. The ghost had tried to lead June through the cluttered hall and back toward the steps that brought them here, but the only reliable bearings the spirit had was her ability to point in her sister's direction. While June had Ginger point toward Brigitte several times, and Ginger reported sister hadn't moved, June had a terrible feeling they were now going in circles.

"We have to go up to the top floors," said June.

"Why? You know she's probably up there."

"So I can check a window find out which way to the front," June noticed her own lisp now, caused by her sore mouth, loose teeth and swollen lip.

"Most the windows up there are boarded up . . ." said Ginger. "Stop!"

June stopped. Ginger said, "Careful! Down by your knees."

June cautiously put her leg forward and felt a large, heavy, metal object there, like a bench. After groping over it with her hands, she decided to take the opportunity to rest and began to sit down.

"No, stop!" cried Ginger, coming suddenly around to face June.

June froze and looked up at her.

"You're about to put your hand on a circular saw," said Ginger.

She decided not to rest after all, and said, "Thanks. Yes, they are boarded up and there's also a whiteout, but I don't have a fucking better plan."

Then, behind Ginger, June saw something move, an enigma in the pitch darkness. She felt more than the usual chill.

"Something's here!" said June, "behind you!"

Ginger turned her head toward it, then glanced back, bewildered. By reflex, June clutched the skulls; they were warm.

_Another spirit!_

"Hello!" said June, hardly raising her voice.

They distinctly heard a coughing, and then a male voice whispered in a guarded tone, "Angel Moses! Is that your name, lady? Or are you Satan's _Lalith_?" He sounded like he gargled with rust.

_Lalith? Or do you mean Lilith? And does the ghost of Shakespeare write your lines?_

The darkness seemed to open around him, and now June saw him clearly, visible but dimmer than Ginger. Yet, his features showed no shadows, no uneven light, no tone gradients in the otherwise complete darkness, a paradox that seemed common to all spirits.

He looked solid; she could see his gaunt, pallid face distinctly. His hair was brown with some gray, he had a strong jaw and a dimpled chin, and his eyes were distinctly blue. Like Bobby, he wore a white shirt stained red with blood. He had a tall, bent, frightfully thin stature.

_Consumptive . . . tuberculosis._ _Nineteenth century ghost._

"We mean no harm," June said, remembering Ginger's run-in with Bobby. "We just want to find our way out . . ."

In a sudden flash, June remembered how she had commanded Bobby to back off. She had a brainstorm grabbed the skulls again and said commandingly, "Spirit, speak your complete name to me!"

"Basil James Seigworth," he said immediately, then looked surprise.

The necklaces were warm and tickled her fingers. She had used the same peremptory tone Brigitte had used with her.

_They work! I can command spirits!_

_ "_Basil, stay with us until I release you!" she ordered. "If you know where the lobby is, lead us there at once!"

"Yes, ma'am. Please follow me," he said politely, though he looked confused and angry.

Ginger looked at June in awe as they followed him.

"It's the necklaces," whispered June, flourishing them. "You and Brigitte never knew what you had."

"Funny, actually, we . . ."

Ginger's voice trailed off as June tripped, stumbled, and then yelled, "Basil! Go slower." She turned back toward Ginger and said, "Please Ginger, remember I'm blind down here. Don't forget to help me get around all this shit."

A plea, not a command, but Ginger still looked uneasy.

* * *

"Which one ones will you carry?" said Lewis, looking at the weapons arrayed on his bed. "At least one of us should carry a shotgun."

Frank raised his eyebrows. "Nice! Pump-action and double barrel shotguns?" Humorously he said. "What no full automatics?"

Lewis didn't get the joke. "Their illegality makes them impractical, otherwise . . . "

Frank picked up a revolver. "Magnum?"

"Yes," said Lewis.

Frank checked the chamber.

"You want to carry that one?" asked Lewis, selecting the ammunition for it and putting it into Frank's pack.

"Actually, I'm probably better with this," Frank said, putting the Magnum down and picking up the Glock.

Lewis picked the Magnum up and handed it back to him. "Glock's also my first choice, but if you've practiced with a Magnum, carry it too."

Lewis began to speak quickly, "Now remember Frank, these creatures are unbelievably fast. They will try to use this to run you out of ammunition, so if you run out, sound off, and I'll cover your reload, and you do the same for me. We'll be fighting them, I hope, inside on solid floors, not carpets. So, they won't be nearly as quick as they can be. We have another advantage: tonight they'll consider it their territory, and they'll fight for it, so they'll bring it to us, at least at first."

Frank raised his eyebrows; they stayed up as Lewis continued.

"Now, you already know about their healing capabilities, so if you drop one, sustain fire, and finish point-blank, if possible. You have to do enough damage to as many vital organs as you can, or make them bleed enough that they die before their healing catches up. They will play dead, by the way, and they're extremely good at it."

Frank just nodded with a slight wrinkle setting into his brow. Lewis read skepticism.

"You'll believe it when you see it, Frank. I'm just preparing you for the moment you do." Lewis added, "Oh, they'll need food after healing. So, if you do let them get back up, they're going to be hungrier and meaner, and . . . you won't even believe that's possible."

"Do they actually heal from head shots?" asked Frank.

"I've seen a werewolf healing from one but I killed it before it finished. So, yes, but I don't know how functional it would have been afterward."

Lewis' adrenaline had begun to surge just talking about this, and Frank looked pumped as well.

"Any other questions?" Lewis asked.

"No. If we're done the briefing, the doctor's waiting to be picked up," said Frank. "So, let's go."

"No, that's not all . . ."

* * *

Basil led them through the dark, cluttered, clammy basement for so long that June began to suspect his bearings were actually worse than Ginger's. June's mood turned spiteful.

_Shit!_ _I've asked the fucking village idiot for directions!_

Every time they came to a stairway, he claimed he didn't know the way to the lobby from up above, exasperating June, who had almost all she could take of the darkness.

They finally did go up, emerging on the ground floor, finding this section warm, lit and still inhabited, but instead of relief, June felt despondent, her energy draining away. Tears left her almost as blind as she had been in the basement.

She faltered, trudging with her back bowed and her head down, her tangled, brown, dirty hair hiding her face. Her eyes didn't just leak tears, she cried uncontrollably. Ginger had to constantly cajole her to continue, and June answered tersely if at all. As this happened, Basil would stand aside looking annoyed and impatient.

At the same time exhaustion and inflammation had intensified June's physical misery, she also suffered mentally. She now floundered under the weight of an unrelenting depression. Doctors had warned of this, but she had never before reached this part of her mental cycle and had never experienced anything like it. No less extreme or irrational than her manics, she felt odious, poisoned and corrupt beyond redemption. The guilt over all she had done in her entire life and her terrible mistakes of the last few days felt like self-inflicted wounds that she couldn't help but visualize. These visions, and suicidal thoughts forced themselves into her consciousness just as music did during her manics. Suicide seemed increasingly like the moral, rational thing to do. She deserved the pain, and death would render her forever harmless.

"What's it really like to be dead?" June asked, sobbing.

"Don't even think it," answered Ginger, "It's like you're in prison."

"But at least it doesn't hurt, does it? No pain for eternity? I can go for that, now."

"I haven't forgotten pain. When I remember it, I feel it, and I feel it for you now."

June said bitterly, "You don't really."

She straightened her posture, swept her hair out of her eyes and tried to pull herself out of the mood. She tried to think of her wretched feelings as emotional hallucinations and her leaking eyes to be only a symptom of something physical, like an allergy. To counter the obsessive suicidal thoughts, she desperately attempted to pretend she had already died and was serving out purgatory. Her mental strategies had but a minor effect. She wished she could concentrate on music, it would change her mood and alleviate the pain, but she could neither recall nor compose a tune in her head now, just the very opposite of what happened during her manics.

They finally arrived at the lobby, where June averted her gaze from the massacre, dreading that she would actually feel pleasure from the sight of it. She recoiled and stumbled on the staircase, sinking down on the steps, mournful and overwhelmed. At first, the ghosts ignored her; they were so enthralled at the sight of the mass slaughter before them.

"Woe!" said Ginger in awe, smiling, her eyes wide.

"Good lord!" said Basil, seeing all the corpses. "See what you've brought upon us?" he jeered to June, who wondered if he could read her mind.

"Man, my sister's wicked!" Ginger exclaimed.

"You mean EVIL!" said June with disgust. She looked up at Ginger with disdain for a split second before averting her eyes once more and wailing helplessly. She wished for something, anything to take this ordeal away.

"June?" said Ginger, crouching down in front of her.

"I've brought you here . . . " said Basil.

"Is there anything I can do for you, June?" Ginger asked.

"Vodka and morphine!" June cried, and then added, "and cyanide."

"What ails her?" Basil asked Ginger.

"She's ill and hurt badly!" Ginger answered. "June, honey? Do you need to rest?"

"No! I need to die!"

Basil laughed derisively. Ginger scowled at him, but then turned back toward the stricken girl.

He said, "May I go now?"

"Don't talk that way anymore, June!" said Ginger aloud, ignoring him, and then whispered, "You don't want this, believe me! And he agrees with me!"

Basil ignored her. "Will you release me?"

"Oh, thanks for the help, asshole!" Ginger said, glaring at him.

June now concentrated her total effort on starting music in her head, something to fight the pain. Something powerful. Clint Mansell's _Lux Aeterna_. She concentrated on playing every note from every single string in the orchestra. She tried to make the music soak into her, but she kept missing notes. She opened her good eye an found she could hardly see out of it too now due to the weeping.

"June," said Ginger, crouching in front of her, her face sympathetic. "I know it all hurts so badly. You've done so much, try to keep going!"

To June's surprise, Ginger touch her on the neck in sympathy and held her hand there. It felt warm.

* * *

Unraveling the tape, Lewis had taken the auto-injectors off the sticks knowing now the idea was impractical. He handed the first one to Frank.

"Here," said Lewis, "give it to anyone who's been bitten_._ We're probably going to run into at least one, and if you come across anybody with any bites or bite scars, give it to them. Don't ask them any questions. Just do it. If you don't, they might be sleepers, and they'll turn on you."

"I'll remember," said Frank impatiently. "We're ready, yet?"

Lewis said nothing, but gazed away from him, looking worried. "Wait!" he said.

Frank's body slacked. He almost stomped like a child.

Lewis had changed his mind, deciding on a much better plan. He hated it. It would be deceptive, but it was still so superior to the their current plan that there was no alternative.

"Actually, you better sit down and get comfortable, Frank. I have a few more phone calls to make."

Frank's jaw dropped open as Lewis pulled out his phone and thumbed in a number. He wondered if Frank thought this was all a joke now.

_No, more than likely he thinks I've gone chicken._

Frank took his hat off, loosened his scarf and sat down hard on his bed.

Lewis said into his phone, "Hello, Arthur . . . ?"

As the call went on, Frank's expression went from surprise and impatience to anger.

* * *

Ginger's touch seemed to absorb June's mental and physical pains. They all diminished greatly, as though she had taken a strong analgesic and antidepressant. June reached up and touched Ginger just slightly on the wrist. Ginger recoiled.

"That's . . . better!" said June, standing up; it wasn't too difficult now.

"Ginger, what did you do?" June asked, checking to make sure she hadn't actually been healed. Unfortunately, all her wound and contusions were still there, still looked just as bad. Her left eye was still just as swollen shut. No, she wasn't healed, just relieved from emotional and physical pain.

Ginger stared from her own hand back to June, stunned.

"Hey, thank you, thank you very much," said June, "but . . . why didn't you do that before?"

"Because, um, I didn't know I could do it till now," said Ginger embarrassed.

"You're physical, too! I can touch you!"

"No, you mean . . . " said Ginger, stopping in confusion.

June reached toward her, Ginger flinched and tensed. She bit and then pursed her lips, but nodded.

"May I leave now?" Basil repeated.

"No!" June snapped, "and don't ask again!"

June reached her hand out and touched Ginger's shoulder lightly. She felt the weave of the sheer, rough fabric Ginger wore there and felt warmth radiating from underneath it. She slowly and lightly stroked downward. It had rough, web-like texture, exactly the way it looked.

Suddenly, Ginger's surface gave way like a thin, empty shell, and June's fingertips penetrated it. Ginger shrieked, and recoiled, teleporting eight feet away. She clutched her shoulder, her teeth clenched, her features transparent and wavy.

Basil laughed derisively. "She's so new to being dead, isn't she?"

"Right jackoff; I'm still jail bait!" Ginger shouted, but her voice sounded distant and thin, before her features then turned opaque and solidified again.

"I'm sorry, Ginger," said June, rubbing her chilled fingertips.

Ginger shuddered. "Fuck! That's so . . . I. . . can't describe it. Please, please never, ever do that again!"

June noted the shake, having been under the impression that the ghost felt cold all the time and couldn't shiver. "But you invited it!" said June.

"I was curious, too! I wondered if things changed, but if I let you to do it again, just shoot me!"

"That would be overkill."

Ginger answered, "That's not funny."

A child's voice chimed into the conversation with an un-childlike sarcasm, "Where's mum?"

June felt a wave of goosebumps sweep over her.

_Annabelle! Oh no!_

Of all the spirits June had met, only Annabelle had frightened her. In their brief encounter, June had sized-up the child-ghost as demented, enraged and inexplicably powerful.

June spun and looked around, trying to spot the apparition and get control of it as quickly as possible. Her blind eye impaired her. Of course, the acoustics of the voice didn't make sense; it might have come from anywhere, even from right next to June's ear.

"Mum left me. I'm hungry!" the voice said, bitterly.

"There!" said Ginger, shocked, pointing.

June looked and saw Annabelle now standing next to the opposite staircase, and she had no eyes, only skull-sockets. She continued to change as June watched.

"Child!" said Basil who was closest to her, but Annabelle now looked like anything but a child. She _had no hands_, her arms ended cleanly at the wrists.

_Was she murdered?_

June hardly finished the thought before apparition's lips widened. Neither teeth nor tongue were visible inside the mouth. Only blackness. The face now looked more puppet-like than a human.

Before June could do anything, Annabelle shrieked out a horrible keen and pounced on Basil. Her wrist-stump attached itself to his neck. They both shrieked, grappled, and whirled around faster than June could follow. Their keening ended, and they separated in less than a second. Following some abnormal laws of physics, their bodies, had no momentum. Basil's body had stopped to hang vertically, totally still in mid-air, as though in a photograph, his feet hanging a half-meter off the ground. His head and arm had been torn away and also hung unmoving and suspended. Large white globules began to ooze from the neck and arm stump, and they floated wavering in mid-air. The sight stunned June out of reality, and she could only gape at the it shocked and perplexed, while Ginger screamed and dashed down the opposite-side hall, as far as she could, but slammed into her limit within June's presence.

Moving with the speed of a spider wrapping up a fly, Annabelle grasped his head between her wrist stumps, as though she had invisible appendages attached. The head began to deform and flatten like clay being squeezed and kneaded, swiftly changing colors first to red, then to blue, then to purple, then to jet black.

"June! This way! Run!" Ginger cried, desperately, and she kept pleading as the scene continued.

June did not respond. The child-apparition began to squeeze the deformed head directly into her own abdomen, which had become transparent, seemingly injecting the material through her navel. Inside, it turned syrupy.

"Please! June! Come on!" Ginger screamed hysterically.

June stayed frozen and fixated. As the apparition finished consuming the head, June saw the black fluid in its belly began to spread throughout its spectral body. The creature then grabbed the floating arm and began to mold and discolor it in the same way as it had the head.

Then a revelation awaken June from her shock; she suddenly recognized this process, and as she did, a deep, intense outrage swept through her, dwarfing any moral disgust she had ever anticipated feeling. She grasped the skulls.

"ANNABELLE!" she screamed, her voice echoing.

The creature stopped and looked up fearfully, it's eyes had reverted to a child's.

June shouted, "Throw yourself into the cold void, and never, ever DARE walk among the living AGAIN!"

Annabelle screamed and dashed away, so fast that June only saw flashes of her moving down the hall. Her keening, so loud in June's ears, lingered after her. The skulls felt hot but were cooling in June's hand as her anger cooled, too. It took almost a half minute before she could think again.

"Ginger!" June finally called without looking. "She's gone . . . for now."

Ginger already stood right behind her. "What was it?" she asked, cowed.

June started and glanced at her, but then stared back at Basil's "corpse" which continued to hang unmoving in the air.

"A cannibal," said June.

"What?"

"A ghost that consumes other ghosts. I guess she increases her power that way."

"I've never heard of anything like that!" said Ginger.

"Those werewolf legends are wrong, too, you know."

"You mean I can die? Again?"

"Apparently," said June, studying the dead-again phantom hanging before her. It looked transparent to her now. She wondered if anybody without "the sight" could even behold it. The floating white globules she had seen bleeding from it had disappeared, she didn't see what happened to them.

"Well, what happens to me then?" asked Ginger. "Do I reincarnate, finally?"

"If I guessed, I'd just be lying." June passed her hand through the "corpse." She felt no chill, nothing, and the twice dead didn't move. "Ginger, I just scared her. She's not really gone."

"But you told her . . ."

"She's too powerful, and I saw what happened when you were dispelled. Sorry you missed it. It was pretty fucking spectacular. There wasn't anything like that here."

"But you have the necklaces," said Ginger.

"I'm way too new to this. No way I can dispel something like Annabelle without some kind of ritual, even with these," she flourished the necklaces. "So, if you see her again, just get away as fast as you can."

"I tried!" said Ginger. "I can't go out of your presence, remember?"

"Then close your eyes and try to disappear."

"I tried that, too. It's too fucking slow; it can take minutes to happen."

June sighed in frustration. "I don't know what to do then, Ginger. She just moved too fucking fast. I'm only human; there's no way I can protect you at that speed."

"Oh, great," said Ginger. "What are you going to do with him now?"

June looked at the dangling "corpse" and affected a commanding tone, "Go away!" she said. It didn't respond. She commanded, "Rest in peace!" Nothing happened.

"I don't know," said June with a sigh. "I can't command _this_. It's mindless."

Ginger made a sighing sound, "Poor Basil, may he rest in peace . . . uh, this time," she said, gazing at the mindless phantom. "Life's a bitch and then . . . death's an even bigger bitch. So, what now? We're here. What's your plan?"

June turned away from Basil's "corpse" and looked at the lobby, taking care to avoid looking directly at any of the tortured and dismembered corpses, but already she could feel her stomach growling. Only now did June realize her plan might have a problem now, and that her time feeling depressed would have been better spent ironing out the wrinkles.

"Yeah, I'll tell you in a bit, I have to find something at the guard station first. Stay _right_ here."

"O-kay," said Ginger, sounding out the syllables.

The small girl shambled to the guard station, being extremely careful to neither to fall nor to look directly at the bloody remains. Even so, she felt her stomach growling again. She glanced back at Ginger who had her eyes averted, and seemed to be absorbed in looking at a corpse. June went behind the station, stepped over the guard's body. On the counter, she saw what she was looking for: the revolver. She put it furtively in her coat pocket with her right hand while she used her left to go through drawers. Then she continued pretending to look around and then underneath the counter as though desperately searching.

When finished making a good show of it, she said, "Fuck, no luck!" she stood up from behind the counter. "I guess we'll have to. . . ." Ginger was not there anymore.

June turned, and Ginger stood behind her blocking the gate, the her arms crossed tightly and her lips drawn tight. "June," she said softly, "What are you planning to do with that gun?"

June tried to think of how to answer. She couldn't think, and she stalled by drawing the pistol and checking the chamber. She saw four rounds left.

Instead of stalling, her silence told Ginger everything. The ghost exploded in rage, "Jesus Christ fucking Mary on a Bicycle!" said Ginger. "No, you're not!"

"Ginger, please, I'm sorry, we have to," said June, pleading. "Dozens of people could die tonight if we don't."

"Your breaking your fucking promise!" she shouted, her voice making no echoes in the room.

"A promise I did my best to keep!" June answered, raising her voice. "How can we possibly save her now, anyway? She only has hours left, and we don't have any monkshood, even if it still helped her."

Ginger shouted back, sounding like she screamed the words directly into June's ears, "You faithless bitch! She hasn't even totally changed, yet. You're breaking the pact, too! On the very same fucking day that you swore it!" Her features had gone pale.

June had actually held her ears but it did no good. Now she lost her temper, "She forced me to commit murder, Ginger. That wasn't in the pact!"

Ginger now changed, her irises were large and iridescent blue now. She showed her teeth and had fangs once again. "Why you spiteful . . . The magic you swore with doesn't care, June. Breaking the oath _will_ follow you beyond the grave. _This I know."_

"Which doesn't fucking matter compared to the lives of so many people."

Ginger began to weep. "Why did you even bring me back to see this? You played on our hopes. You lied to us. You said we had a purpose!"

"I did NOT lie . . . ." June shouted, and then added sadly, "A purpose can fail Ginger, and, I'm sorry, I failed. You know how much I tried."

Ginger sneered at her. "And you'll fail again. Do you think you're some kind of action hero? _You_ are no match for Brigitte."

"No, but I can't stand by and let her do this," said June, "If not me, I don't know who else can stop her now."

Ginger sneered through her tears and said rapidly, "You? You're small, you're weak, you're sniveling, you're blind, you're slow, and you're beat to shit . . .

"I can outsmart her . . ."

". . . and you're fucking CRAZY! You're not going to outsmart Brigitte, June. Oh, no. Not enough." Ginger gestured around her, "You see how she took over this place? You have NO chance against her, and she _will_ kill you this time, bitch!"

"Look, you asked _me_ for help. I helped, you know what I've gone through . . . "

"It don't matter if you give up now. Why don't you just shoot yourself? Can you even fucking shoot? Have you ever even fired a gun . . . in your whole fucking life?"

"She was able to kill _you,_" said June.

"And she was luckier than leprechaun getting a blow job! If you think I'm leading you to her while she sleeps, if that's your plan, forget it," said Ginger sobbing, who then turned her back on June.

"Ginger please, we have to catch her while she's still asleep," said June.

"We?"

"I'm sorry Ginger, I have to insist. It's the only humane thing we can do."

"Fuck humanity! Fuck the people here! And Fuck you, you faithless CUNT!" Ginger closed her crying eyes to try to get away. She waited to be transported. She hoped it would be _coldsleep,_ and she hoped she would never awaken again.

After a moment, June commanded, "Ginger, turn around. Open your eyes."

To Ginger's bewilderment, she obeyed before she could think of disobeying. She suddenly faced June again and couldn't close her eyes.

Smirking, June clutched the bird-skull necklaces and said, "Now, if you don't take me willfully, I'll order you to do it, and you won't have a choice."

Ginger shrieked. Her appearance suddenly transformed: her eyes turned into skull sockets, her complexion went bone pale, her features filled with shadows, and her hair color turned almost blood-like. The ghoulish change startled June, who had no time to respond before Ginger's fist had penetrated her left shoulder, which felt chilled for a split second before exploding into the worst pain she ever felt. The tiny girl tried to screech, but rasped instead, stumbled back and collapsed, into a sitting position against the counter drawers, grasping her stricken shoulder, still rasping out stifled moans, unable to breath.

From its immediate peak, the pain then diminished rapidly, and June felt relief she that still possessed a left shoulder. For a second, the pain had dwarfed even the agony she had taken from Brigitte's claw.

When her vision had cleared, she saw Ginger looking neither ghoulish nor lupine now, standing over her, gazing at her own hand in bewilderment. The ghost giggled drunkenly, and she looked transparent, wavy and colorless, her mussed red hair partially hiding her face.

"Woe! I have a sting!" she said triumphantly, gazing down at June, raising her hand as she gradually continued to fade.

June said the first thing that popped into her mind, something her aunt once said, "The bee that stings dies- painfully, Ginger!"

_Who am I? Batman?_

"Fuck you, too," said the red head, still fading. With a start, she looked up and around, and then turned her dazed, transparent eyes back to June. "Oops! It's time . . . !" she said, with a smile, her voice cutting off as she faded out completely.

_Man! Ghosts aren't as lame as they seem!  
_

The pain was almost all gone now, and made a mental note to always make her first order to a ghost, "Don't hurt me._" _She palpitated her shoulder and arm. No wounds or new bruising she could find. She had full movement, no pain, when seconds before she could swear her entire arm had been ripped apart and torn off. Now that she could think again, she knew she had blundered terribly.

_Stupid-bitch move, June Isabelle! You just had to win that argument, didn't you?_

Alone and bedraggled, June picked up the gun and stood up. By the time she regained her feet the "sting" had completely gone away, but all of her other pains from previous injuries were coming back. She didn't feel it yet, but she expected her mood to fall, too.

She staggered out of the lobby, getting as far away from the bloody remains as fast as she could, and she turned left into the hall. Distracted, she did not notice that Basil's corpse had moved. Instead, she was noticing that Ginger's _sting_ had aftereffects. She felt giddy and excited, a throbbing ache pulsed deep in her gut, and her skin tingled. Leaning against the wall, she began to feel body aches.

She knew she had probably forfeited her slim chance of stopping Brigitte, another error that would cost many lives. She had been too close to Ginger personally; she should have never expected any spirit to be rational about something so crucial to its existence. She should have brought Ginger under her power immediately when she suspected the ghost wouldn't cooperate. Now her plan was in shreds, and she had no idea what to do next.

_Wonder what she meant by "It's time?" _

She began to feel nauseated and short of breath. She panted and noticed her heart racing. Deep in her gut, the ache throbbed harder and hotter, feeling even more powerful than the rapid beat of her heart. Sweat dripped from her forehead and off her nose, her vision blurred.

_What did she do to m. . .?_

Simultaneously, all of her joints pounded with agony, synchronized with a hot, pulsating pain through her entire viscera. She screamed, dry heaved once and then staggered, lost control of her limbs and fell on her back, hitting her head but staying mercilessly conscious. The pounding in all her joints turned to stabbing pain. She screamed more. Her skin burned and crawled, especially inside all of her injuries. The stabbing, hammering pains in her limbs fell out of rhythm into chaos; her extremities shook violently. Then paradoxically, she had orgasms. All her genital, back and abdominal muscles contracted in explosive, rhythm, swiftly drowning out all the pain and transporting her momentarily to heaven, where she had rapid pornographic visions that all turned to slaughter. The visions and pleasure ceased as her torso muscles seized in mid-contraction, squeezing the pleasure into more agony. Only when her joints began to crack did she figure out what had to be happening to her.

_"'It's time!'" said Ginger, standing above her, grinning._

"No-o! LI . . . AR! It can't be . . . not . . . to me . . . YET!"

She screamed again; her voice cracked lower.

It was moonrise.

* * *

**_A/N 1/11/11:_**_ After all that's happened to June so far, it felt cruel writing that. This chapter still seems too long to me, but I couldn't find anything else to cut out.I'm starting on the next chapter first thing tomorrow morning.  
_


	29. Lunatics in Charge

_**Author's Note**_

_**2/5/2011**_

_First an announcement: I'm now certain that Chapter 36 will be the last, followed by an epilogue. _

_It took a long time to write this, but it's also by far the longest chapter, so I hope that adds some value for readers. You might wonder now how I choose the length of the chapters, and it's mostly, a matter of trying to find a good place to stop. One drawback for me with writing: so far I've never tell how long a project is going to take, in length or time. That's including a chapter or a book._

_I hope so far, I've written a story for which nobody can predict the ending. I'm not winging it, however. I do know the ending myself, and I have known it from chapter 1. In fact, these following eight chapters, including the epilogue, have been the parts of the story that I've looked forward to writing and had time to think out the most. __ I hope it means it will be the fastest chapters to write. __Setting it all up has been a challenge, and I didn't know all the plot elements entailed in reaching them, which is why this has gone longer than I thought._

_To me, this is the most disturbing chapter I've written so far. Others may see why._

* * *

**Chapter 29:**

LUNATICS IN CHARGE

Brigitte awoke from her nightmare with a start. Her hide tingled all over. Her fur glistened with chilled sweat, and confusing emotions and sensations assaulted her. In her very bones, she knew what it was.

_Full moon! _

She smelled Jason, not a new scent, only now it aroused her, which felt heinous, a betrayal of herself.

_Brigitte! I must hold on to Brigitte!_ she thought desperately.

Most baffling, the hot pulsation in her lower gut now made her feel pregnant and in labor, on the edge of giving birth to something greater. No doubt she would die, and her child would consume her, but to have it otherwise would be evil. Her body told her she had a few hours left, if that.

She paced, claws clicking against the floor, tail swishing. She knew she had forgotten something. She growled, kicked the door of the room off its hinges, clawed at the air and punched the window-boards breaking them as she did. Shaking, she stepped on dismembered foot, picked it up. She tore the shoe and sock off and bit into it, choked and spit it out. As she thought, it tasted like shit. It wasn't fresh enough, not for her child.

Jason howled.

"Let me in! It's time!" she heard him saying.

She howled back, "No!"

"Don't be shy!" he howled back.

_Brigitte, I must not lose Brigitte! _she thought, pacing faster.

She looked in the mirror. Her eyes had now turned pure, iridescent scarlet, but she had undergone no other striking physical changes. The fur had spread over her human breasts and the four other teets below them had enlarged. The sight of them increased her distress.

_Brigitte! Save Brigitte! Save me . . !  
_

"Dad, help me . . . !" She cried out. She thought of how he would look at her and became outraged at him then. As she turned away from the mirror, she wanted to kill him, tear his limbs off.

"I don't want your pity!" she roared into the air, "You fucking idiot. You should have stayed home!"

Crying, she sat down and drew her knees up to her sides, holding them. All of the changes had been excruciating. She knew this final one would be the worst,followed by death.

_ "Bee . . ."_

_Ginger stood inside the mirror and looked out at her. She, too, was in her final lupine stages. _

Roaring, Brigitte lunged through the mirror shattering it; her head banged into the wall beyond. Lying stunned, helpless and bleeding in the shards, _she felt paws grab her. _

_ Ginger turned her over. _

_"Woe! You've gotten faster," said Ginger who crawled on top of her."This sibling rivalry bullshit has to stop, now!" _

"I think it all comes from one side," said Brigitte through her teeth, her body paralyzed.

_"Hey, don't worry!" Ginger whispered her voice for once gentle and sweet. Brigitte did not trust it."I'm not here to hurt you now." Ginger stroked the moist fur on Brigitte's belly. "That's all over. You're through learning. You know more than I ever could have ever taught you." She licked a cut beneath Brigitte's eye, whispering, "You're so wicked. You're what I never became. I'm proud to be your sister. I love you, Brigitte!" _

Despite herself, Brigitte felt moved. Never did she imagine hearing Ginger give such a compliment.

Jason howled again, "It's time. Let me in."

_ "Oh, Bee, he's going to be so happy with your gift!" said Ginger._

Brigitte gasped, "Gift?"

_"Yes, you've prepared this place for him."_

"I did not!" Brigitte said, stunned.

_"What did you do it for, then? After he brought you all those gifts? You're giving him a whole stocked hunting ground. Why do you think you were doing it?" _

Brigitte gaped, tried to think if why. Vengeance? Justice? She realized that neither of those explained why she did it, only why it felt so fun and right. Beneath the surface, her emotions had dictated her actions to her. She never understood the reason until now.

_Ginger laughed, a kind of rhythmic grow, and gently removed a glass shard sticking out of Brigitte's right forearm. "The Curse gives you desires, but you, Brigitte, figured out how to fulfill them. Don't worry, she'll enjoy your gift, too."_

"Who?"

_"Your daughter, of course."_

That brought Brigitte up short; her mind hadn't even recovered from previous surprises.

_"Yes, what you're thinking is true. You're in labor. You need help with the pain and that's what I'm here for. I'll tell you how to finish this pain-free." Abruptly, Ginger had stood. She held her paw-hand down toward Brigitte, who could suddenly move. Brigitte took it. Ginger pulled her up while saying, "In fact, your last moment could be the best of both of our fucking lives put together." She began to pick glass out of Brigitte's fur. _

"How?" asked Brigitte, her dizziness beginning to pass.

_"There was something I never told you about me and Sam." _

Brigitte showed her fangs.

_Ginger laughed. "You're still pissed! He wasn't just perfect. He was so fucking useful, and then . . . you walked in on us . . ."_

* * *

Hearing a muffled howl, the Sky Goddess snapped her eyes open as she sprung into a crouch, growling. Her perfect mind thundered and flashed with lightning. She sniffed the air. It smelled of many new things, but mainly, it smelled like birth, blood and food.

_Did I give birth to Summer prematurely?_

She looked, but couldn't see Summer. June gave birth to him every year. Something like that had just happened to her, but she didn't know what. A puddle of birth-sweat glistened on the floor where June had fallen, where she had transformed into the Sky Goddess. Her eyes searched up and down the hallway while she sniffed. Colors looked slightly different than mortal vision, and it was far less blurred than June's flawed sight had been.

In her dream she had fought her angel sister, who attacked her with a butcher knife. Her sister had a minion, a stick figure with blood-red hair that could leap out of dreams. The Sky Goddess had to be alert for her. A hard surf guitar echoed up and down the hall, Dick Dale playing Miserlou, so much better than Berlioz in her dream.

Usually, her immortal form was Sophia, but the anger bubbling within her had morphed her into Hecate. The anger mystified her. The transition had been so painful, but the smell of the blood sacrifice from her worshipers appeased her.

She began to walk toward it, when she heard wings flapping behind her.

She spun and looked. _A large Raven stood on the floor . . ._

_ "Nevermore! I mean Rose Petal! Urgent message fr . . ." _Growling, she sprung like a cat, catching it. _"Arrkk!"_

She tore it with her claws and then her teeth, but its feathers tasted like feathers and its flesh tasted like paper.

"_H_e_c_a_t_e!" _said a female voice, a challenge both whispered and shouted. _

The Sky Goddess stood, spit out feathers, sniffed and looked up and down the hall, but saw nothing.

_"_H_e_c_a_t_e! H_e_r_e_." said the voice, again whispering and shouting._

She saw it standing at the end of the hall, a childishly-drawn, black stick-figure painted on the air with a nub for a head, long, blood-red hair and a crude green skirt. It raised her hackles.

_"A_n_g_e_l_a_'s w_a_i_t_i_n_g," it said._

The Sky Goddess growled, creating gold static flashes in the air, and dashed after the phantasm, which disappeared around the corner. As Hecate rounded it, she saw the figure duck into a door. She followed it and found herself alone in a men's room. The vivid stink of male urine affronted her. Warily, she searched the stalls, but it must have dispelled itself.

Her mortal body so thirsty, the Goddess desired that it drink. She stepped to the sink, turned on the water, cupped her hands, gulping and slurping down the water swiftly. When she finished and raised her head, she saw herself in the mirror. The bruises had diminished, and the swelling had disappeared. Her unkempt, dirty brunette hair dangled over her wild, brown, dilated eyes. Still human, they peered from behind her tangled tresses like a concealed predator ready for the kill. She swept the hair back and gazed at her dirty face when she noticed something different inside her mouth. In the back, the two loose teeth had tightened again, but in front her tongue felt something more striking. She pulled her lips back and saw fangs, four elongated upper incisors, two on either side of her smile. The Goddess' very presence had changed the mortal body.

She also had claws, not too sharp yet, just freakish. She took off her shredded, bloody coat and then the necklaces, which seem to pulse with crawling shadows. Her t-shirt looked slack under the stiffness of the dried blood. Despite her wound, she grabbed her breasts. They were smaller by a cup size at least, and she felt totally free of the constant burden on her shoulders and back. In fact, all her previous pains barely annoyed her now. Instead, she had nagging cramps in her lower belly and back, but compared to the suffering from her previous injuries and strains, these were a relief.

Suddenly surging with energy, she jumped up and down, panted out laughter for several seconds, then stopped. She backed away from the mirror. Her t-shirt had a hole in it where Brigitte had wounded and tortured her. She tried to remove the shirt, but it stuck fast to her bra, which in turn stuck to her wounded nipple. She pulled the fabric loose from the scab, crying out, but mostly in anticipated pain, the real pain being somehow muted. She took off both the shirt and the bra. Her nipple bled again, but she paid no attention. Blood, even her own, no longer fazed her. Her breasts were now closer to a size that she liked, but another change perturbed her, causing her to gasp.

_Eww! Hair! Fucking angel's cursed me!_

Dark brown hair grew all over her. Straight, inhuman bristles poked out from her arms, shoulders and belly, from the bottom and back of her neck, and the top of her chest, some even grew beneath her ears. The dark color clashed with her light complexion. Too bristly and spread out to be called a coat, hairs looked not like mammal fur, but just ugly, like insect bristles.

Besides the hair, however, she did have the muscles of a Goddess now. Her abdominal muscles were vividly toned, if odd-looking. They felt like steel, the fat built up from eleven weeks confinement missing. Even her softer parts felt hardened. The curves at her waist had sharpened amazingly, while her back and arm muscles had been enhanced similarly. Flexing her forearm pleased her for once.

She clenched her hands, and despite the claws, she made solid fists. She thought she could crush stones with them. Laughing, she opened and looked at her right hand, then bent it back as far as it should go. Using her other hand, she pulled it back further. The wrist popped, so did the knuckles as she bent her hand all the way backward until her fingernails actually touched her forearm. She let go of it, and it stayed there. She wiggled her fingernails against her forearm, giggled, then snapped the wrist back into joint.

"She's taller . . . she's shorter . . . so deep in the rabbit hole, now, aren't you Alice?"

Her voice was alto instead of soprano, and though she didn't like it, she giggled anyway. She put the bloody shirt back on, put the necklaces on over it, liking the way she looked with all the blood, grime, and tangled hair. In a mock child voice she pursed her lips said to her reflection, "Aw, the Sky Goddess, stalkin' those li'l blue wabbits you've gwown in your wabbit patch?"

She growled involuntarily, but actually her stomach growled loudly at the literal thought of eating rabbits. She smiled in the mirror and showed her fangs. They looked mighty.

_Mortals will shit themselves at the sight of me!_

In a breathy, childlike voice she said "Smile and say cunnilingus! Cause I'll . . ." she breathed hard, affecting arousal, "uh, uh be coming for you! And tear all your fluffy stuffing out Mr. Wabbit! But first, you can EAT ME!" She now laughed fully. "_Vous me donnez votre langue et je vais vous donner mes dents!»*_

The music in her head changed to discordance, and her expression changed from happy to angry. Shaking, staring into the mirror, she said, "Oh, you going to fuckwithmenow, Angie? Huh?"

Her punch shattered the world. The mirror fragmented with sparking, spreading tendrils before she even knew she wanted to punch. She had watched the cracks spread out from the impact followed by her image exploding outward. Like fireworks, it sent tingles down her spine. She laughed more.

_"Ich verschlinge Welten von _Kaninchen_ wie Sie." _ she said in quick, accented German.*

The top of the her middle knuckle stung. She stuck it in her mouth and tasted the blood, which tasted bland but made her stomach growl louder.

She stepped to the right, in front of the next mirror. "How about you Violet? You going to elbow me now? GOFISTYOURSELFBITCH!"

This time she punched it twice as it shattered. Glass showered all over her, and she saw it turn into all kinds of rainbow-colored crystals around her before they expired and fell. She laughed and laughed more, as she plucked a small shard out of her eye. Blinking away the pain, she now cried blood.

She went to the third and last mirror. She held up her hand showing her nascent claws to the mirror, to Brigitte, along with he fangs. "Going to fuck with your sister?" she said, Her voice lowered to an indignant growl. She screamed hysterically, "Youmadeamistake! You set me free! Don'tyoueven try to beat me again! YoufuckingMUTTBITCH!"

This time she kicked the mirror. It exploded. She landed on her feet but slipped on the cascading glass and fell back and let herself curl up on the floor, screaming in laughter, her mind playing and replaying the fireworks that had run through her image as it shattered, showering her with power of an exploding world.

She got up, and spread out her arms glass glittering all over her, she shouted, "I'm your goddess, your Big Bang, thou shall not put other fucks before me! Fuck, fuck and fuck you all!" The Sky Goddess' voice thundered, _"__Ich habe den Tod der Verschlinger der Welten geworden und ich bin sehr hungrig zu kaufen!"*_

She cackled until she began to choke, then began to catch her breath, her eyes running with tears and blood. She whispered, "That's smiting goddess three, everything else nothing . . . and she fucking wants more."

She bared her fangs but saw she had run out of worlds to shatter, their empty frames hung before her. She knew much more rage bubbled within her. Tiny worlds would not suffice now. She whipped her hands and spattered blood all over the sinks and mirror frames. She wiped the foam from her mouth, not seeing that she had instead wiped blood onto it.

Suddenly, the Sky Goddess called, so her mortal body rushed into the stall to relieve herself. The world begged her for rain, and her mood had changed to merciful, so she let herself weep for a few minutes before she noticed more blood. Her mortal period had arrived, eight days early.

She screamed and kicked the door off the stall.

* * *

Nick, one of nine patients trying to escape, pulled the door open. Wind and snow blew in. The tallest of the patients who gathered in the long, dim corridor at the door, he turned to the others, five guys and three girls. He put his stocking cap on over his long brown hair and shouted back, "Told ya they had to keep a door outside for themselves somewhere. They really had it well hid."

Another guy, Tony, said, "Let's get out of here!"

"No shit!" said Sarah, who pulled a hood up over her strawberry blond hair. "Let's!"

They all hurried out, immediately bogging down when they found themselves thigh-deep in snow and surrounded by a hard, swirling wind. The drifts against the building had piled up to the second story window.

"Parking lot's that way!" said Tim, pointing.

Nick, who waited to leave last, had just emerged when he heard a sharp muffled scream. Something pulled Tony under the snow. Bright-red blood stained the snow in his wake, bubbling from beneath. The three patients still in Nick's sight turned to look, two screamed.

A mound slid swiftly from Tony to Tim. A bear-sized claw grabbed his arm and pulled him down as he screamed, cut short when a gigantic wolf's head clamped onto his throat and pulled him completely under. Another red spot began to soak to the surface.

"Shit! Come on, get back in!" Nick shouted over the wind, as he ducked back into the doorway.

The two that were still visible to Nick heeded him and ran back as fast as the deep snow would let them. The creature surfaced behind them, revealing itself to Nick, who saw the huge, wolf-like creature rush toward the door. He screamed, then shouted, "Hurry! Get in!" he shouted.

A boy and a girl reached the door. Nick slammed it right in beast's hateful face. It hit the door like a giant's fist.

"What the fuck was that?" John yelled between gasps. He was the only other guy to have made it in. The only girl to have made it back, Sarah, sank down against the wall with her legs against her chest crying.

"Exactly what it looked like," shouted Nick.

"Werewolf? No fucking way!" said John.

Sarah looked up to say something, then all three of them gawked as the door latch began to move. Nick threw the deadbolt. Outside there was a roar and a hard blow against the door.

More clanging and scratching and snarls sounded as they spoke. John and Nick pressed against the heavy metal door, but it felt like it should easily hold against the beast.

"Stupid ass!" said Nick to John. "You've seen ghosts, you heard what the girls said. You still can't believe it?"

"But it's daylight still, and it's too fucking big!" said John.

"I know," said Nick. "Just means we're in deeper shit."

Suddenly the pounding and scratching stopped. Sarah stood up, and looked around her. "Are we the only ones that got back in?" They both just stared at her. Nick had not really heard her. "Please! No! This is wrong!"

"What's wrong?" said Nick.

"Hey, listen! It stopped!" said John, relieved. "It's gone away!"

They paused and listened. Except for the wind, the noises had ceased.

"We can't leave the others out there!" said Sarah, her eyes sad, desperate. "It'll kill all of them!"

John scoffed at her, "I'm not going up against that thing."

"We can't fight it," said Nick. "If we open the door and let it in here it'll get everyone."

"We can't leave them out there!" said Sarah.

"You didn't even get a clear look at it, did you?" said Nick.

Then, someone banged on the door. "Let me in!" said a female voice outside. "Let me back in! Please!"

Nick said, "Fuck! Somebody's still alive!"

_Why isn't it ever simple? _he thought.

They all pressed their ears against the door.

"Who is it?" John shouted.

"It's me!" she screamed. "I mean it's Gina!"

"Gina?" said Sarah. "You're alive!"

"Yeah, and it went away," she said crying. "Please, it's so cold out here. Open the door guys."

Nick shouted, "Is there anybody else?"

"No," she said. "Just me. Please let me in."

"I thought you were dead," said Sarah, relieved. "Well let's let her in!" She reached for the dead bolt.

"No!" said Nick grabbing her wrist. "It's a trick. It's hiding behind her, waiting."

"What?" said John. "You think it's tricking us? I don't believe it!"

"Could be," said Nick. "Every staffer here is gone or dead. That took brains."

"You have to let her in!" said Sarah, pleading.

"Guys, please let me in. It might come back! Please let me in. Please!" said the muffled voice.

They both looked to him now. Nick looked down and shook his head. He looked around the narrow corridor for something, anything to use as a weapon, but it was absolutely clean and empty. He looked back up and whispered, "Okay, we'll open it, but we have to make sure it doesn't get in when we do."

"Are you still there, guys?" said Gina, almost hysterical. "Please don't leave me out here! Please!"

Sarah began to shout "We're . . ." when Nick slapped his hand over her mouth. Fuming, she bit him.

He flinched, his other hand latched onto her wrist and squeezed it until she released her bite, he whispered angrily, "Don't . . . tell it . . . we're opening the door. Don't let it get it ready."

He took his hand off her mouth, she called out, "Gina, hold tight, honey."

"What?" Gina shouted and then lost it. "What do you mean hold tight? You stupid fucking idiots . . !"

Gina's raging insults continued as Nick spoke. "Okay," he whispered, "Sarah, when I say 'now' really loud, open the door, but slowly. John, when it opens, I want you to lookout from here." He pointed to the latch side of the door frame. "If you spot it behind her, I don't care what you shout, just shout it as loud as you can."

"Don't worry," said John, his eyes wide.

Nick turned back to Sarah. "If he yells, I want you to shut the fucking door as fast as you can, I don't care if she's in or not."

Sarah looked at him dubiously. He signaled John to get into position and located himself five behind paces behind them, giving him a running start.

"Please, please let me in, guys."

"Open it slowly, NOW!" said Nick.

Sarah opened it, and immediately John saw a girl with a red cap, but rising from the snow right behind her he saw the creature, and it rushed toward the door, toward him. His voice cracked with a scream. Nick lunged into the door with all his strength. His impact fractured Sarah's wrist with two sickening snaps, and severed three of Gina's fingers in the old square-edged metal door frame. He landed lying on top of Sarah, who saw Gina's severed fingers twitching in front of her face. Sarah began screeching hysterically As Nick got off of her, the latch moved again, and he threw the bolt, dooming the girl outside.

Now the creature's roar shook the door frame, and then it took out its rage on the helpless girl. They heard the snarling, tearing and screams vividly. The door and wind did not muffle the terror of it. Sarah lay wailing Gina's name and began gasping, going into physical and mental shock. John was quiet, but mentally not that much better.

Nick slapped John's shoulder and said, "Come on, let's get her back up."

John obeyed silently. It was all he could do. His own thoughts had stopped.

As they tried to help her up, Sarah cried hysterically, "No! No! Don't! My hand's broken . . . My fingers! They're on the floor . . . pick them up . . . please pick them up. . . Where's Gina . . . ? Where's Gina . . . ? Let her in . . . "

Nick had no idea how to carry her without aggravating her wrist. He couldn't put her arm over him, so he simply put his hand around her hip while John hoisted her other arm. She screamed resistance at them all the way through the corridor, while Nick thought of knocking her out. He had no idea what to for her.

At the other end, they reached the small employee lunchroom. Across it, they reached the steps up to the boys' ward. Gina, now completely immersed in shock, had stopped screaming, and just gasped. She felt cold. Nick knew nothing about shock, and if John knew anything about it, he was too far gone. As she struggled to breathe, they carried her upstairs, where walked into a situation far worse than the one they'd left.

* * *

Hecate planned to consume her sacrifices, the smell of which caused her mouth to water. She left her coat and bra, which were garbage, and exited the bathroom.

She emerged into the hall with the shards of broken worlds glittering in her hair, on her bloody face, and on her clothes. Immediately outside, she growled in surprise at meeting a nurse, who gazed at her with benevolence and pity and dared walk right up her.

The black-haired woman stood blocking the corridor leading to the Goddess' sacrifices.

"June, Dr. Gadepalli says you need to see him right now," she said.

The Goddess would have struck her dead for her insolence but had mercy when she recognized her.

"You may not call me by that name, Cassandra, but I forgive you this time," said the Goddess, her stomach rumbling. "Now, I have sacrifices to accept." With a toss of her head, she stepped around Cassie.

"June, remember all that you learned about your condition?" said the nurse, calling after her. "You are now in a severe paranoid psychosis. Remember the video of your being brought in?"

That stopped the Goddess. She did remember. The girl with the painted face, obscenities written on it, spitting on the staff who tried to help her, slashing at them with an imaginary knife. The Sky Goddess felt pity.

_Is that how she is now?_

"Yes, that's how you are now, June. The doctor can help you, but you have to go to him immediately."

"Don't blasphemy my name again, Cassandra," Hecate said, but she was troubled. "No!" Her stomach growled more. "The sacrifices are more pleasing than your words." As she walked from the nurse, toward the sacrifices, the smell of blood and meat grew stronger. She began to run, and the smell grew swiftly more enticing with every stride.

She had just about reached the corridor when somebody tripped her. She tumbled into the wall at the corner.

"What the fuck? You dare?" she bellowed rising to her feet angrily.

Cassie stood in front of her. The Goddess stood up, growled and bristled, but of all mortals, she could not get angry at this nurse, who had practically been a mother to her in the harsh weeks after mortal June realized her family had cut her off.

"Why did you trip me?" June demanded.

"You have an appointment now. The doctor insists!" said the nurse her expression tense.

"Tell him I'm hungry," she said, exasperated, stepping around Cassie again.

"June Isabelle," Cassie called toward her in a warning tone that imitated June's mother, "if you eat what's what's out there, _you will not survive!"_

June giggled without turning. "What do you mean I won't survive?"

She then turned toward Cassie, but Cassie was gone.

"Literally." Cassie said from behind her. June jumped, growled, turned and swiped but missed. Cassie stood there within reach, her arms crossed. "If you eat what's out there in the condition you're in now, _you will not survive._"

The Goddess laughed at her. "What is it? Poisoned?"

"Morally, yes."

"Oh, like the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil?" June mocked her swiftly, shouting some parts, "'Hedrivesoutthecrazywoman, and at the east of the asylum, he placedcherubim and a FLAMING SWORD that turned every way to guard the way to the treeoflife.' Ididntexpect poems like that that from the greatpornographer. That kind of poison?"

She tried to step around Cassie, but the nurse stepped in front of her and grabbed hold of her shoulders. The Goddess' anger thundered. Her mighty arms swiped at Cassie, but touched nothing.

Cassie kept hold of her, shoving her down the hall. "June, I beg of you, try to think, please!" she said her face next to June's ear. "You're hanging by a single thread right now. Make the wrong choice, and you break it."

"No!" the Sky Goddess struggled, but she had nothing grapple against, nothing to hit or bite. Her lightning didn't effect it. Meanwhile, she tried to shake off the dream feeling she had.

_But I'm awake. I fought my sister and her minion in my dream. I woke up!_

"What'reyoueventalkingabout?" Hecate screamed.

"I'm talking about watching what you eat," said Cassie, holding June around the shoulders. "Recall what happened in that lobby!"

"Thedanglingghost."

"You're beginning to remember. What else?"

"GingerstingandAnnabelle . . ."

"Earlier," answered Cassie, now releasing June.

June sifted through a disorganized heap of memories, but found it. "Death!"

"It wasn't a sacrifice. So, what would you be doing?"

June held her forehead. The faces of the people massacred there came back to her. "I remember. But it was a dream. Wait! Wait!" said June. She took her hands off her forehead as she remembered a further detail. "But you're dead, too!" she exclaimed, stunned that she didn't recognize Cassie as a spirit before now.

"You're very confused now. The doctor will straighten it out for you."

"Shut up! You're dead!" she screamed. "I saw you, in the lobby! DrGadepalli'sdeadtoo. Hetoldme," she growled, "and he's a fucking bastard!" Hecate reached up to grasp the skulls, but to her bewilderment, she wasn't wearing them. She was unarmed against this spirit and couldn't fight it.

_Fuck!_

She fled from Cassie, down the hall back to the bathroom. Arriving, she couldn't find them. Frenziedly, she looked in the coat pocket and shook it out, but there was nothing but glass, keys, the bag of mouse shit, and the gun. Then she searched under the sink and on the floor. Nothing anywhere.

_I couldn't have forgotten to put them back on!_

"What do you feel you've really lost?" said Cassie. June looked back, toward the door where the apparition stood, and now Cassie did look like a ghost. Shadowless, her form had changed. Now manifested all the wounds and trauma that Brigitte had inflicted on her. Though her face was unmarred except for the ear, she had slashes and bites all over her. The most horrid of all: the woman's left breast hand been ripped away, and in its place, her chewed heart hung from a gaping hole in her chest. June's empathy came back, she could feel the suffering Cassie must have gone through and now felt mortified and guilty about her hunger. She almost cried. Brought to earth, the Goddess became mortal again.

"What you've lost isn't nearly as bad as what you were about to lose," said Cassie gently. "You're further from the smell. Try to think clearly about what you were really going to do."

"People," said June. "I'd be eating people. I'd be eating friends."

June hung her head.

"There would would have been no going back after that. The beast would have had you."

Cassie's hand touched her on the cheek; it felt warm and alive, reminding June of Ginger's healing touch. June looked up, and the nurse looked human again, and did not manifest her wounds. Her shadows were normal once again. Cassie gave her a hand, but June had already stood up without it, so Cassie walked toward the door and beckoned June.

"Okay!" said June, "I'll see Dr. Gadfly. But he's still a bastard!"

Outside the door, they turned the opposite direction from the lobby and walked around another bend. Cassie then abruptly opened a door on the right. It said, "Dr. M. Javed Gadepalli." June rolled her eyes. With a warm smile, Cassie opened the door and gestured for June to go in.

It was his office all right, but it had more windows than she remembered. Bright sunshine came in through the broad windows running across the far wall. Within all the glare, she saw him sitting at his desk.

"June Collier, do sit down," said the doctor with an Indian accent, but it wasn't the doctor's voice, and his accent sounded fake.

"Um, hello doctor," she said, feeling suspicious and uneasy, while she sat down across from him. The light from the window shown on him.

_Is he even alive? He doesn't look like a spirit._

He sat with her file open. He read it with pen in his hand as always. A large mirror hung on the bookcase behind him now. She could see herself sitting beyond the back of his head. To her surprise, she looked well groomed.

"Describe what you've been going through."

She balked at the scale of that task. "Starting when?"

"Starting when the moon rose."

_Oh, yeah! That's what happened!_

"It changed me in some way," she said. "I haven't been able to think straight. I think I must be a goddess. I can't tell what's real. I can't tell which of my memories are true. It's all just a jumble, and I'm so fucking angry now. I don't know why."

"It's brave of you to acknowledge this," he said. "Most patients lack this insight."

"But its new, and I don't know how much longer I'll have it," said June. "This illness keeps tricking me. The rules keep changing, and I can't adapt." Unlike every other session with him, he didn't take notes. He just tapped his pen on her file.

"First, I'm going to say some words, and for each word I say, you say back the first word that comes to your head. Let's start: Rabbit."

"Foodfun," she said, in rapid fire.

"Deer."

"Kill."

"Rose petal."

June jumped and gaped at him.

"Rose petal," he repeated slowly. He didn't sound like the doctor to her now.

"Purpose," she said.

"Council."

"Orders." She mouthed the word "Captain?" to him. He put his finger in front of his lips.

He said, "June, I have medication for you. You need to take this immediately. It will stop your uncontrolled mania and will let you focus your thoughts." He reached into his drawer, took out a prescription container, leaned over and spilled out six capsules of different colors. Red, green, blue, gold, lavender and orange. "Take one and only one of these."

"Which one?"

"You need to make that choice."

"Are they different?" she asked.

"Yes, you need to make a choice."

"But I . . . How can I know?"

"I've already given you the tool you need to decide," he answered.

She began to make word associations with the colors. She looked around the room for clues and saw all the sunlight. Her mind raced. All the colors led to bad or neutral associations except for orange and gold. She looked at him, but his face was frozen as though time had stopped.

_Gold . . . wealth. False enlightenment._

She picked up the orange capsule and swallowed it. The effect hit her immediately. Her vision blurred and she blinked trying to focus. Her head tingled with warmth. Her anger soothed. The pulsing and aches in her gut decreased. She felt suddenly tired and her eyes closed involuntarily. Her thoughts slowed.

When she heard a droning noise, she opened her eyes again. No longer was she in the doctor's office; she was in the Captain's plane-headquarters sitting across from him at his desk. He glared at her.

"How dare you endanger this entire mission?" he said.

Puzzled, she said, "Captain, I wouldn't . . ."

"Why did you disobey orders?" said the angry, eight-foot tall soldier.

"What? Where did I disobey . . . ?"

He slammed his desk thunderously. "Don't play coy, Rose Petal. The council ordered you to extract yourself from the operation and isolate yourself in safety."

"That was an order? Shit! I thought he was telling me that because he loved me and wanted me safe."

The Captain rolled his eyes, "Bah, we sent the wrong messenger after all."

"I thought you abandoned me. Why didn't I hear anything else from you?"

"Because we were under siege and then overrun. Our satellite was damaged and now we're in retreat. It does not look good now, Rose Petal. Communication is disrupted and the enemy takes more each hour."

"Oh," said June, feeling her heart sink.

"Your mission's still our best hope."

"I just didn't expect the council to do that. I mean order me to abandon so many people . . ."

"No!" he said. "Your locking yourself away, _that_ was their best chance of survival, and it was definitely our best chance, but now that you've followed your own plan, your actions alienated your co-agent, and she is key to everything."

"Ginger?"

He nodded. "And at the same time you antagonized forces we do not even understand."

"Forces you don't understand?"

"Our source. She can't predict from every contingency. Your orders kept us on a track from which she could foresee, at least in a crucial details, but now, now you've left us totally blind."

"Wait! Captain, who's this source?"

"That's classified. On a need to know . . ."

_ "_Yeah, when I need to know. I need to know now. That ritual you had me do, Ginger and Shay told me about it; how did the council come up with it?"

"Rose Petal, you're out of line," he said.

_ "_I'm also the best chance we've got. You said it, so you better tell me. They told me that I was chanting in a strange language and the voice wasn't even mine. Whose was it?"

He sighed and said, "We don't know."

"What language was it in?"

"We don't know that either," he said.

"What? I thought you and council created it. Where did you get that ritual?"

"Now, that is something I can't divulge."

"If you don't tell me . . ."

"Not won't, can't."

June sighed. "What is our source? The necklaces? Is that where it comes from?"

"Perhaps that's where," he said. "But we believe it has our best interests at heart."

June exhaled, and slapped her head. "What? A spirit from a skull talisman? What can be more trustworthy?"

"Do not anger it any more than you already have," he warned, whispering. "We're wasting time, here. You must re-inserted into the operation now, and if your co-agent comes to you again, do what you can to reconcile with her." He opened a desk drawer. He took out a live, pastel-blue rabbit and put it on the desk as he looked for something else. Her stomach growled at the sight.

"You said I already blew it," June pointed out, her mouth watering.

"No, our chances now are just totally unknown. The enemy's bio-agent has infected your mind and your self-control is poor now. We'll still send agents to help you with that, and for counsel. Here."

After Reaching further into his desk drawer, he then handed her a parachute. She began to put it on. He put the rabbit back in the drawer. She felt relieved that she didn't eat his sacred animal in front of him. "What am I supposed to do when I arrive?" she asked.

"Your co-agent was right, you can't fight Brigitte directly, even with a gun, but you have other means of helping," June had her parachute on. He walked her toward the door. "Think in terms of defense not offense now, and remember why dogs need to be let in."

"Riddles aren't good for the mission, Captain."

He threw the door open. The propellers sounded loud, but no hard wind blew into the cabin. "Not a riddle if you've already solved it."

He was right; she had.

"Best of luck, Rose Petal. Goodspeed. Everything depends on you now."

She turned from him. Looked down, there was nothing below but darkness and stars. She jumped. A maelstrom hit her. She opened her chute and floated through the darkness toward the stars down and down through the wind. Her feet finally hit solid ground, and she released the chute.

She opened her eyes not as the Sky Goddess but as June Isabelle Collier again, finding herself crouching next to the door where Cassie had taken her, but Dr. Gadepalli's name was no longer on it. She quickly confirmed that her physical changes had been real.

_A partial change like Brigitte's._

She felt so light, strong and agile. Out of curiosity, she opened the door. The doctor's office had disappeared, having been replaced with a standard meeting room with a table and chairs.

She said to the empty room, "Thanks doc!" and closed the door. It was good to simply know who she was again. She felt something against her chest and gasped at seeing wore the necklaces now. Had she been wearing them all the time?

"Thanks again!" she called, as she dashed toward the restroom to retrieve the items in her coat. From there, she ignored the nagging hunger and sprinted directly to the ward.

* * *

Nick and John carried Sarah through an open door at the top of the stairs, which were located fifteen feet behind the nurse's counter in the boys' wing. At the top they froze in terror at the sight of a half-werewolf standing across the counter with its hateful, red eyes glaring at them. Before they could say anything, it vaulted over the counter and landed in a crouch in front of them.

"Warned you about outside, didn't I, assholes?" said Brigitte. "You're dumber than sheep!"

Oddly to her, she perceived no response to the insult. She did not know her speech was indecipherable to humans now. It sounded to the three like inarticulate growling and hissing, but to her, it sounded like English.

She continued, "But what can you expect from a bunch of mental defectives?"

John and Nick simply gaped in bewilderment, while Sarah, panting, lifted her head to look up with dull, glassy eyes before sinking down limp again with a groan. All around, up and down the halls, guys and a few girls stood gaping in silent fright, a few muttered to imaginary friends.

Brigitte lowered her stance, bristling and ready to pounce. They saw her retract her toe claws and extend her fore claws, tapping them, savoring the intensified fear she smelled from her quarry. Flourishing her tail, she said, "First to move gets taken to dinner!"

Nick recovered just then and reached for the door knob. With a roar, Brigitte slashed him with cat-like swipe, and bright blood squirted from his wrist. He screamed. John and Sarah fell away to the side as Brigitte bit into Nick's leg and pulled him away from the steps. She knew he would move first and it satisfied her.

_ Big guy, a little challenging, lots of lean meat._

She heard screams and smelled terror from all around her. John dragged Sarah out a door and into the hall, while Nick fought, kicking at Brigitte, but she swiped back at him with her claws and quickly shredded his thigh with her teeth, causing another bright red geyser. She drank the blood as it flowed and then started to eat before he had died. She enjoyed ripping the muscle meat of the thigh, and then moved on to devour his guts. Like her fighting, Brigitte could eat at high speed, and did so now.

As she feasted, she heard the splintering of wood and whispers of a plan from a familiar voice. She heard their entire plan to ambush her, and knew they wouldn't challenge her behind the counter. She could finish eating undisturbed, exactly the reason why she chose the nurse's station for the kill.

Before she felt sated, she had stripped away all the muscle meat on his thighs, eaten his abdomen down the spine, and stripped away the sinews on his chest. Everything behind the counter was splattered with blood. The pulsation in her gut grew warmer; it had what it needed. Now she had to get what she needed.

She licked her chin and cheeks and then cleaned her paws for functionality. Standing like a human, she vaulted the counter. Everybody in the hall fled at once, except for Sarah who lay there with a pillow under her head, and John who stayed by her side looking doomed.

Brigitte reveled in the smell of his fear and her shock. She walked right up to them. Clasped John on the shoulder and said, "Elevate her legs, you idiot!"

_What's wrong with him?_

He just stared back trembling. Brigitte knew he was about to shit himself. She laughed and turned away.

She had an ambush to fall into and knew which direction it lay. She walked left from the nurse's station toward the bend in the hallway. Most doors to the rooms were closed, and she could see people peering out of the glass at her; they ducked when she gazed back. She heard every word of their frightened whispers, but all was silent from the rooms up by the bend, where one door on each side lay cracked open. As she drew closer, she heard a single whisper from each side and did not break her pace.

_Yeah, I'm coming motherfuckers._

As she just about reached the corner somebody cried out and four guys jumped her. Two rushed at her from around the bend and two from doors on either side of the hall. Three of them bore broken furniture legs; the one nearest to her, to the front left, brandished a mallet.

Brigitte growled as she stomped down on his foot, toe claws impaling it, while she hit him with a knife-hand strike to his throat, claws retracted. It penetrated almost back to the bones where she extended her claws and yanked. In the same instant, her right claw swept outward, slicing another one's throat like tissue paper sending splatters of blood against the wall. Her right arm followed through gaining enormous speed from her waist twisting rapidly, her shoulder popping out of joint. She folded her elbow as it cracked the third one's skull, sending him flying into last assailant. Brigitte wanted him alive.

The fight over, her left hip, leg and arm whirled to follow the rest of her momentum, throwing the first victim off her claws, head lolling, into the second guy, who didn't yet even know his throat was cut, hadn't even started to fall. The two bodies flew limply into the wall, landing with limbs twitching, spurting blood like two lovers in a suicide pact. She landed standing against the opposite wall. The survivor fell down against the same wall two meters from her, grappling with the convulsing body of her last victim. She had time to belch and crack joints back into place while waiting for him to "win" his wrestling match, which took much longer than it had for her to win the fight. She hoped this would be as easy. She had actually hurt her right elbow and wasn't sure if she could use it for now.

As he began to regain his feet, she said, "Hello, Roy."

Brigitte remembered him from therapy, and he now stood up to face her alone, his blue eyes wide with fear, letting Brigitte see their splendor. She had walked into the ambush to have a "chance meeting" with him, and she knew she had impressed him. To Roy, it had seemed not like a fight, but like an explosion. He hadn't even seen a single blow, and the noises had been so close together that they had sounded like one noise.

He stared at her bewildered, backing away as she walked slowly toward him. When he reached the bend she quickly cut off his leftward retreat, backing him further toward the corner. She smelled surrender; the fight had gone out of him. She walked with her flat tongue out three inches slowly licking his friend's gore off her left claw.

"Sorry to stand you the other night," she said, "but I got caught up in one of life's little changes."

She didn't yet know her words were lost on him. He still brandished a table leg at her, but meekly. Brigitte laughed at the token resistance, but it was lost to him, too. It sounded to him just like more growling. Had Roy known she flirted with him now, he would have wet himself.

She sucked blood off her claw nail. "Well?" she said.

He tried to back further, but she had cornered him.

"Drop it," she said, playfully.

He looked at her bewildered.

"Are you going to make me take that away like you're a bad little puppy? Don't. I eat puppies."

It finally dawned on Roy, _What the fuck? Is she talking to me? _

With his momentary surprise, she easily grabbed the club without hurting him and threw it away. She now moved so close to him that another inch would have had her pressing herself against him.

"We still have a date," she said.

She could smell his fear, but could also see his eyes go out of focus. Her pheromones had begun to effect him and was numbing his resistance. In a few seconds, he looked dazed and she smelled his arousal. She backed off and looked below his belt.

_Look who's not scared at all!  
_

She took his hand looking into his lovely blue eyes. "Now, you know I can be a real bitch. So don't be difficult." She led him away by the hand. Dazed as he was, he didn't resist.

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

_*Translations:_

_"Vous me donnez votre langue et je vais vous donner mes dents!»_

_„You give me your tongue, and I'll give you my teeth."_

_"Ich verschlinge Welten von __Kaninchen__ wie Sie."_

_„I devour worlds of rabbits like you." ._

_"Ich habe den Tod der Verschlinger der Welten geworden und ich bin sehr hungrig zu kaufen." _

_„I have become death, the devourer of worlds, and I'm very hungry now!"_

_Just so people know, June's command of these languages is not necessarily as good as she or her hallucinations think it is, but since she's fascinated by languages, and intelligent, I couldn't figure out how to avoid putting them into her psychotic word salad, especially with delusions of grandeur._

_I found the cracking of June's very identity and her warped sexual expression to be the most disturbing part of this, but believe me, it's accurate to the behavior of a person in the severest manic psychosis, with or without lycanthropy. Dreams where you're somebody else acting out of your character are always the most disturbing to me.  
_


	30. Last Stand

**Chapter 30:**

LAST STAND

June stood in the lounge doorway facing about a dozen patients. "Hi girls!" she said, with extreme friendliness that did not match her frightful appearance. Some froze, some stood up, all stared. Afraid she might use the gun if she drew it, she kept it hidden in her pocket.

She acknowledged the guys present with a bigger smile. "Hey guys!" Then coyly covered her mouth, hoping her new fangs didn't send entirely the wrong message.

The dozen or so in here seemed not to recognize her, though she had only been gone for one day. _Do I look that different now?_

In fact, she did, and she sounded different, too. The dried blood in her hair and on her shirt did not help the impression.

They huddled, staring with postures and expressions informing her of confusion, while smells of fear and anger increased.

No longer allergic to the mouse residue, she could smell and interpret many new, surprising things. She knew Brigitte had been in the ward barely minutes before. She also recognized the smells of death and sex. The scents of meat and blood made her stomach growl, a sound the others noticed.

She struggled with her growing desire for blood now and resisted the urge to pick a fight.

"Look," she said, her voice shaking. "I know exactly what you're all thinking, but I'm here to help."

_That sounded totally wrong! _thought June. She spoke in a husky, uncontrolled pitch now. Years of practice charming people with her voice were gone.

"Like the way you were helping _her_?" said one girl.

"I had to. She forced me," answered June.

"Oh, really? She put you in charge," said another.

"That was her joke!" June cried. "I had to escape from her."

"No, you were her friend from the time she got here!" said another girl.

Within the cacophony of voices she heard, "What is she?" "What are you?"

They crept toward her, their eyes angry, desperate. She backed toward the door. "Look, I know some important things, and I want to help you." June pleaded. "I can get you all through this alive if you'll hear me out. I have a plan!" She saw two of the guys sneak out the other door and suspected they would try to flank her from the hall.

"Don't listen to her!" cried Nancy, who saw Brigitte shatter Violet's elbow days before. "She brought that hell spawn upon us!"

The crowd drew closer. June ducked out of the doorway before the two guys could set up their flanking attack. She crouched as the crowd also followed her into the hall.

"Don't listen to her, people," June pleaded. "She's a paranoid schizophrenic."

"Everybody saw you helping her," said a guy.

Her urge to fight intensified. She wanted to test her body, see what mayhem she could wreak. She could do a lot of damage to a few of them at least, but likely could not take on the whole crowd at this stage.

_I only have to kill a few, _she thought, _only a few,_ _and the rest will get the point._

She held that urge as she backed away, trying to reason with herself and them. In the corridor, the smell of meat and blood increased. Hunger and rage clouded her mind and caused her to sweat.

"We just have to keep ourselves safe for the night until help gets here," June pleaded.

Their voices answered simultaneously:

"We?"

"Who made you our leader?"

"Kill her!"

"No, let's learn what she knows."

As she backed down the hall, she heard surprised people enter from the other end, cutting off her retreat. Standing next to one of the rooms, she pulled the gun and flourished it in both directions.

"Stop! All of you. Stay back!" she shouted. They all froze. "Everyone shut the fuck up and listen! I didn't have to come here to help any of you losers!"

"I bet she doesn't even know how to shoot that," said one guy.

"Oh?" She yelled, aimed at his face and cocked the hammer back. "Am I doing this right?" She screamed, and panted. He froze. She could see his skin twitch slightly on his face and neck, showing his blood flow. Saliva overflowed from her lips, her temper was almost gone "Want me to guess at step two now, fucker?"

A soft footfall and a wisp of movement out of her sight warned her. Postures and eyes shifted from her to the left. Blind, at whiplash speed, she trained the pistol on a guy lunging at her from the doorway. The gun aimed at his forehead, but she didn't see his face there. Instead she saw the corporal's

"No! Rose Petal!" the corporal cried. She flinched and fired. The soldier was gone. The bullet grazed her assailant's ear instead of passing through his forehead. He stumbled by her. She punched him in the eye. He went down.

Nevertheless, the others were on her now. They grasped her weapon arm. She swiped with her free hand again, and broke another guy's nose as the gun went off, pointed at the ceiling. The noise aggravated her. Plaster fell into her hair as she struggled against them. She snarled her fangs bared at them.

She didn't let go of the gun and kicked and hit with a force and precision they didn't expect. Their blows felt light compared to Brigitte's. June almost started biting, when she heard a scream above all the others, louder than the gunshots. Everybody stopped fighting and held their ears, June included, but it was futile. She recognized it as a spirit's voice. It keened exactly the way Annabelle and Ginger had, but held it longer. June knew it was not really a sound, but something psychic, jamming her brain.

When it ended, she heard a woman's voice, "Stop!"

June looked as the crowd parted in surprise and respect. It was Laura. Or actually, her spirit. The bird skulls went warm against June's chest. Everyone but her seemed confused and stunned by the screech.

Laura said, "Step away from her now! Leave her alone." Everything sounded muffled except for the spirit's voice. Whether that was from the shots, the keening, or both, June did not know.

The ghost's presence didn't seem to surprise anyone but June; they all deferred to it. She had no idea if Laura looked alive to them, but to her, the nurse was unmistakeably deceased. June's terror and blood-lust settled to a dull rumble, and otherwise she was too flabbergasted to speak or act.

The ghost's eyes were grim, and occasionally transparent as she studied the lycanthrope before her. "June Collier," the spirit said, welcoming her in a kind tone that caused relief and surprise in everyone.

"Laura," said June, "I'm sorry you- -"

The ghost's arm flashed up with a forefinger to its lips. It stood close and whispered, "We've both been changed by this. You fared better than I thought," then the spirit added sadly, "and much worse."

Laura turned to the crowd. "Everybody here! She risked her life to save Shannon. You can trust her. She _is_ here to help." But spirit then gave June a sidewards glance that seemed to say, _"For now."_

Relief began to soften June's mood. She saw a guy on the floor covering his nose, but blood seeped out around his hands. The smell and the sight of the drops redoubled her hunger.

"Shay's here, by the way." said Laura.

"Shay's here? Good- - can't think- - need to eat, _now_!" She turned from the blood in front of her and dashed toward the kitchen, closing her eyes so she couldn't see the blood-stained hall. June found the kitchen by smell.

* * *

Brigitte's scent kept Roy docile and tumescent. She had him on a mattress on his back. The pulsing in her gut had become hammer-like. The rhythm drove her now, dominating her actions. She pulled his shirt open, sending the buttons flying and drooled as she clawed his t-shirt open.

_What's wrong with me?_ she thought, knowing she should be done with him already. According to Ginger, the climax and kill would make the final change pleasurable instead of agonizing, but she found herself reluctant.

"Since you talked to me in the hall, I've wanted you. All rough and messy," she said, more to arouse herself. She ran her claw under his chin, over his throat, down his chest leaving light scratches.

"Brigitte, no, don't," he said.

She feigned being hurt. "What's wrong? Cold feet?"

The language barrier made the quip an inside joke.

"No, please," he begged, "We're not even- - the same- - species now!"

She grabbed his throat, cut off his air. "Shhh. You're ruining the mood, you bastard!"

She tore open his pants and underwear, saw his erect cock, felt her fur all over her body shift. She looked away in disgust. It annoyed her that with her radical transformations, her nausea about penises hadn't changed at all. Though abhorred its sight, the smell and the hot touch of it in her paw, those delighted her now. She rubbed it gently. A waning part of Brigitte realized how pissed Jason would be at her. That alone made her want to go on with this.

_Brigitte! I must save Brigitte! I'm still human for this moment. Roy is still my kind! _she thought.

"Get prepared for the wildest fuck of your life," she said. "And enjoy it while you can, love, because we _definitely_ won't do this again."

Ginger appeared. "Idiot, why the fuck are you flirting with him?" The hallucination looked to be near her total change, too. "He's not your date. He's a fun piece of meat. You're almost out of time."

Brigitte tried to obey her. She straddled his cock but didn't insert it. She let it lay flat against him and rubbed her vulva over it. He moaned, languid again. She growled.

"Why the affection? You'll rip him apart in a couple minutes anyway, Bee. If you don't speed it up, you'll miss your chance."

The pulsing intensified. In fear of the pain she would suffer, Brigitte grabbed his cock to insert it, but now he resisted, bare centimeters from penetration, he grabbed under her thighs and stopped her from descending. They struggled. He managed to pull it away.

"No!" he cried. She growled at him, but instead of backing down, he threw her off him. He tried to flee, but she caught him before he gained his feet. She took him in a choke hold.

"I might be light, Roy, but can break your neck no problem." Her arousal heightened by his struggling, she nipped him then chomped him on the back of the neck. He cried out. Roused by the blood and smell of pain, she threw him down, saw that he had lost his erection now. She clamped her claws on his throat.

"I hear this helps," she said, as her scent apparently helped him too once again.

The pulsing in her gut had spread to her limbs. She knew she had to do it now.

"Now! You fucking tease!" She cried to him. She tore his hands away from her thighs and put her claw over his face and again almost inserted his cock.

"Brigitte," said a male voice. It wasn't Roy.

"Sam?" she said, turning to the voice.

He stood in the shadows of the room. "Remember Ginger making the move on me?"

Brigitte felt ashamed. Ginger stepped into Brigitte's field of view and said to him, "Shut the fuck up, you loser!" She turned, "Bee, quit pretending that animal means something. You _hate_ his kind. His only purpose is to feed you and amuse you."

"No, Brigitte, remember Helen?" said Sam.

That stopped Brigitte. She remembered her pride. She had felt like a superhero then. It felt so good and right.

She released Roy, stood, and backed away. Roy shinnied on his back into the corner.

"What's wrong with you?" said Ginger. "Do it!"

"No!" Brigitte declared, "I don't rape- - anything."

Ginger stood stunned. Then laughed in mockery. "Oh, listen to the hero. You mean you slaughter, you devour, you taunt, you torment, you terrorize, but you don't rape?"

"Yes," Brigitte panted, she felt aches all over now.

Ginger sighed. "And I thought you learned. All right, then, Bee. Now feel what humanity costs you."

She punched Brigitte in the stomach. Brigitte doubled over. The throbbing in her abdomen turned into racking pain, spread to her hips and then up her spine. Brigitte roared and staggered.

"You'll spend your last moments regretting this," shouted Ginger. She turned to Sam. "You! You caused this!" She pounced on him. Ginger snarled and began tearing him apart before the two dissolved away.

She heard Jason howl outside, _"Brigitte! It's time, come on!"_

Brigitte crawled over, picked a set of keys out of the corner. She tossed it to Roy. "There's a room down that way," she said, pointing. "Lock- -" Brigitte retched in pain. "yourself- - in. Now!"

He just blinked and looked at the keys, then peered back at her.

"Go! You- - fu- - idiot!" she roared, then vomited a black fluid.

He fled into the hall in the direction Brigitte pointed. As Brigitte's cry turned into a howl. She staggered out into the hall. Her chest and hips crackled painfully, she fell. Got back up, and staggered around the corner.

_My daughter's- - she's almost here! One more thing- - for her, life!_

To Brigitte, this was her only remaining purpose and her mind focused on it. Her body howled. It wasn't her in that moment, and what her daughter howled to Jason was lost to her. Her head jaw and throat changed, as she sprawled and went blind. She howled again, her screed deepened in pitch. Just outside, Jason answered. Brigitte couldn't hear what he said, but her daughter heard it.

She groped and smelled her way to the door, reached it, and with her last volition, tore the chains off and opened it as the old Brigitte passed away. The daughter-wolf arose. She had Brigitte's memories, but viewed them as a human would view an informative, boring, documentary. It could recognize the name Brigitte, but this creature no longer identified itself with the girl from Bailey Downs at all.

Helpless with her change now, she beheld the bright blue eyes emerging from the dense, blowing snow. She could smell his passion. Leaping in, he said nothing until he had mounted her. The vivid obscenities they swore were in English, but indecipherable to the human ear. He coupled with her throughout the rest of her change as they ripped into each other, mixing their blood in a ferocious consummation.

To the human eye, it looked like either rape or a pit fight to the death. When it was over, they lay and rested with each other, panting, letting their wounds close. This left them hungrier for the game had Brigitte secured for them.

The beasts were ready to celebrate their long-deferred courtship.

* * *

Lewis and Frank were in the back seat with Dr. Lorraine. Arthur was in the front on the passenger side with a young Constable named Kyle driving. Outside the police car, it was a whiteout. Lewis knew what to anticipate from the roads. The main highways were well-plowed, but on the side roads where they were going the maintenance was very uneven. The last stretch to Four Point might be impassable by car. Just in case, Arthur procured a Snow Cat for that stretch. The Chief Inspector of the Gilbert Plains police would meet them with it and join them.

Frank glowered because of Lewis lying to the police. Lewis claimed he had uncovered a trafficking ring being run from Four Point Hospital. He had cited Brigitte and June Collier's disappearance as part of the evidence, but the rest had been conjured on the spot. Arthur trusted Lewis, who hated to deceive but found it necessary.

Lewis knew Arthur took the Mounties' reputation seriously and that credible accusations of teenage girls being being abused would compel his friend to investigate immediately, no matter the weather. Through subterfuge, Lewis had procured trained manpower. Now Lewis had to make sure what they found didn't take these officers totally by surprise.

The car was silent, with nothing but the motor, the hiss of the tires and the smack of the windshield wipers. Lewis piped in, "You know, Frank, I read the most fascinating book on my flight up here."

Frank stared out the window into the whiteout. He had agreed to play along, but his tone made it plain he wasn't happy about it. "Oh, really? What was it?"

"I picked it up at the airport. A horror novel. About werewolves. It was called . . . 'The Feral Bond.' It completely had a different take on what werewolves were and how to fight them."

Lewis could see that Arthur look back at him, stunned.

"Well, it _was_ a good book, Arthur. It's not really my type of story either, but you would have been fascinated with it, too. First, the werewolves healed swiftly, but could be killed by ordinary bullets, enough of them, that is. Silver didn't effect them, but injections with silver oxide could actually cure them. Bring them all the way back from full animalization . . ."

Lewis continued to talk about the "book" was met mostly with uninterested silence. He hoped when they arrived he would have a chance to ease this fiction into reality before any of them got killed.

* * *

In the kitchen, June enjoyed the taste of any meat she could find, raw, cooked or processed. June, like Brigitte that first night, had no sense of decorum at first, but she didn't crack any bones. She was self-conscious enough to draw the line at that.

She finished quickly, strewn pieces on the counter and the floor around her. When she looked up, Laura was staring at her.

"I hope you have a better plan than gluttony," said Laura.

"Sla-ack, please? I hadn't eaten for a whole day, " June took a dishcloth and wet it in the sink to clean your face.

"I haven't either."

"I know spirits and know you don't feel hunger. You won't believe how this shit intensifies your appetite."

"I must warn you, June. There's some power here that's driving me crazy," said Laura. "I can feel it rumble in my head. All the spirits here feel it. They are all going mad now."

"Does it have to do with the killing?" asked June.

"Death is pleasurable for spirits. We also resent the living. I feel that getting stronger in me."

"I won't ask how you died. How did you end up taking control here?"

"Control? Hardly. Almost all of them are too scared of me, a few are in awe. I led Shannon back here and a few girls took my direction on treating her. She's resting in one of the rooms, poor thing. Did you want to see her?"

"I'd like to, yes," said June. "No time for it, though." She took the keys out of her pocket and jingled them. She walked toward the door to go out and heard a howl from outside. Then another, different voice, muffled. She felt she could almost pick out the words.

She rushed into the dining room where a few girls were waiting.

"Come on, with me," June said to them, then turned to Laura, "Find everyone in this place and have them meet me in the lounge, ASAP. We don't have a lot of time."

June went to the nurse's station, found the microphone and said, "Attention, urgent! All patients gather in the girls' lounge. All patients meet in the girls' lounge. Now! It's a matter of life and death."

June was appalled at how few showed up. Laura was right. Most were too afraid of the spirit, and few could trust a werewolf endorsed by a spirit. Nine arrived as the howling continued. From the words in the howls, June knew exactly what was going on.

"Okay, everyone, I have a very simple plan." June held up the keys. "I have a set of keys. We get in the rooms, lock the doors and ride out the night. Somebody has to arrive sometime. All the room doors are sturdy and they open outward so these things probably can't smash them in."

"Won't a closed door be just as good?" asked one girl.

"No, these can open doors. All right, let's find everyone we can in three minutes, get them in the rooms and lock down."

"Are they really werewolves? And is that why you have those teeth and nails. You've been bitten?"

"Ah-uh . . . " June groaned, and found she couldn't answer, she turned away. "Let's drop it," she said, feeling threatened.

"She is trying to help," said Laura.

"Come on! We don't have time," said June turning back to them.

"I'm not going into the same room with you," declared one girl.

"Neither am I," said one of the few guys who attended.

"All right!" said June. "I won't get in the same room with any of you. I'll be in a room with Shay. The rest of you I'll lock in other rooms. Please hurry!"

"I don't think you should have the key," said one guy.

"Too fucking bad!" June yelled. "I keep the key. You don't like it, you can try to survive on your own." June didn't have a choice. The werewolf in her would not stand for being locked up with no escape. "But I warn you: you won't."

* * *

They found several more patients, but despite June's warning, two boys and a girl decided not to be locked up. She knew they had no chance, but she didn't have time to plead. June locked the others into two rooms, four to a room.

Before locking herself up, June procured some food, ammonia and bleach from the kitchen. The ammonia would stun her sense of smell so she wouldn't fall under Brigitte's power. The other other could act as a chemical weapon. She also found a butcher knife.

She holed up with Shay. Both girls had mutual problems, Jason wanted to kill June, and Brigitte wanted Shay dead. June still retained the revolver with two bullets. With luck, she could bring one or the other down with it. No way could she take both.

She remembered that Brigitte somehow brought Ginger down with a butcher knife. That had to have been luck, too.

_ I wonder what happened to Ginger?_

She recalled the agony of Ginger's "sting," and knew the spirit had spent her energy on it. Ginger would regenerate and come back. Unless Brigitte's change had dispelled her.

_What if she comes back and is on Brigitte's side?_

June locked herself in and felt herself shake. Then silence.

She looked back to see Laura's spirit was present in the room. Standing over Shay, who was only dead to the world.

June went to the bathroom and changed her bloody clothes and sponged herself off. It gave her the slightest comfort she had lacked for twenty-four hours. After the wipe down, the cloth was smeared with dirt and blood. She still had clots in her hair. Bad music had started to play in her head again. _Not a manic. Not now!_

Laura spoke, "I don't think this is going to work."

"Now you say something?" said June.

"I saw the strength she has."

June "radioed" to Laura, mind-to-mind,_"And you know how easily they can also hear us, smell us and run us down. These doors are very sturdy. This is really our only chance."_

"And they'll be pounding them all night. So how long did it take her to get through the dining room door?" Laura didn't seem to notice June hadn't spoken.

_"It was nowhere near as sturdy as one of these doors."_

"No, none of you have a chance," the spirit cried. She had gone pale, her eyes turning glassy black like obsidian. "Death will prevail as it always does!" She laughed.

June grasped the bird-skulls and commanded aloud, "Laura, snap out of it!"

The spirit's eyes changed back. It looked human once again and it looked awed. "What happened? What did you do?"

"Never mind that. I have my own mental issues, too. We have to keep each other sane."

Then they heard the howling it was closer. Shay began to stir, half opened her eyes. "June," she said weakly.

June whispered, "Close your eyes, Shay. You need your rest."

"Turn out the light," said Laura.

"What?" said June.

"I can hide your scents and sounds. They need never know you're in here."

"Can you hide everyone else's?"

"No. I can barely do it for the two of you."

June shut the light off. In the darkness, only Laura was perfectly visible.

"Stay close to her," said the spirit.

June sat on the bed.

"Now be very quiet or this won't work," said Laura.

It took just a few moments before they heard the first scream. A half minute after that, June noticed a smoky stench. A fire alarm sounded.

And it had nothing to do with werewolves.

14


	31. Unhinged

**A/N 12/3/11:**_No longer a beta here it is, finally. Beware! I outdid myself. This is by far the grisliest, goriest, most horrible chapter yet, and Chapter 32 will be worse, or better if you're a fan of horror. And for more good news, the novel's almost over. Chapter 33 will be the last chapter followed by a short epilogue. I owe it to my writers' group that I write a lot leaner. The 3rd draft I'm writing will run much shorter still. I hope that will be only 25 chapters._

_I continue to make corrections on it, especially at the end, which I made clearer. I hope it's pristine now. That all being said, this chapter's also rather long, but I don't think it lacks for suspense._

_Please remember the convention: werewolf speech is in italics because, though it's spoken in English, it's too distorted for anyone but the infected to understand it. June's hallucinations are also in italics since I need to distinguish them from the ghosts, until the very last scene of the chapter where italics would have been distracting._

* * *

**Chapter 31:**

UNHINGED

"I felt that," said Laura, her eyes wide. "That was one angry ghost."

"What? What happened?" asked June.

Laura covered her eyes."I don't know. Another spirit did something."

June wondered if it was a trick, but she had no alternative to checking it out. There was no sprinkler system. A fire would make the rooms into a death-trap.

"Stay here. Hide Shay!" She unlocked the door. In the hall, she choked on the vivid odor of burning flesh. Smoke streamed around one of the locked doors from which she heard coughing and pounding. June reached it, and it was cool to the touch. She unlocked it.

A wave of heat rippled out as three people tumbled into the hall. They coughed, staggered and fell on the floor. Dense smoke cleared. June could see someone lay inside, body blackened. Dying flames still squirmed around the corpse like fast-crawling worms. June crouched, wiped her teared eyes. Beside the corpse, the fire had blackened the surrounding floor but nothing else. A girl inside sat up, choking, but otherwise unharmed. June dragged her out.

"What happened?" June asked the survivors.

"Ghost!" one of the girls coughed out. "He was— it put its hand into him and, whoosh! He went up like a torch."

"Spontaneous combustion?" June said, realizing a medical mystery had been answered by the paranormal. "What pissed it off?"

Before the girl could answer, they heard a wolf howl, and June understood the words, _"Little cuckoos roasting in your nest. We're coming. Can you fly?" _

Thinking fast, she unlocked the door across the hall, where others were holed up. "Inside, quick! Come on!" The four rushed or staggered in. She locked the door after them and fled back to her own room, which she secured then ducked behind the bed.

"I think Ginger let me off easy," said June. "Her 'sting' had a kill setting."

Laura just hissed back. Seeing the spirit's eyes black again, June commanded, "Laura, come back to sanity!"

The ghost's eyes went back to normal. June added, "If you go wild, don't you dare hurt me or any of the other patients."

"I wouldn't ever," said Laura, sounding burdened. "Quiet now, so I can hide you." She closed her eyes.

The dark emanated only silence for a minute before June smelled the alluring scent of werewolf. She sniffed the ammonia and stifled her coughs as Laura looked strained. Outside, clawed feet clicked along the floor. Two four-legged creatures strutted through the hall. They stopped at one of the other rooms. June gasped silently. A person was with them. A male. June heard him huffing with fear. Jason growled. No words this time, just a threatening snarl. Keys jingled. One was inserted, then withdrawn. Another search, and another was pushed into the lock, then withdrawn

"If I do this," a youth begged, "you won't kill me, will you?"

June knew the voice: Roy! She heard the discordant growls of the creature's laughing.

_ "You stand a slight chance of joining us,"_ said Jason's guttural voice. _"But your miserable life is _so_ fucked if you don't open that door faster."_

June could hear the frightened noises in the room. They were trapped. She thought of using the gun; but with only two bullets she knew she couldn't bring them both down, even if she could shoot straight. Jason alone would take eight rounds if she didn't miss. She might shoot Roy but it would sacrifice Shay's life, too.

June heard the right key hit home and turn, the door flew open.

At the other room, the creatures smashed through Roy, breaking his ribs. Jason stood on him, claws sunk into his shoulder. The werewolves paused to posture and snarl, enjoying the terror they smelled. Then they began the slaughter.

The patients fought back. One swung a table-leg. The Brigitte-wolf dodged it, grabbed him by the knee with a paw, and bit into his upper leg. She let go in time to dodge his back-swing and lunged. Her jaws closed on his face with a loud crunch that sent his teeth flying, and then with a quick snap, she broke his neck. Jason had already eviscerated one girl with a single swipe of his claw, and tore a boy's throat out. Blood flew and spurted all over the room and onto the remaining patients and covered the creatures.

They took a couple quick bites from their kills while allowing two patients to flee, toys for later fun. Three others they cornered. One was Nancy, the other two were male, one blond, one with brown hair. The black-haired girl shouted at them, foam dripping from her mouth.

"No harm shall befall the children of Abel, monsters!" she shouted. Then stepping between the boys, raising her arms in front of her, palms out, she yelled. "The angels are strong against you! Flee to plain of ice from whence you came!"

She wasn't done saying "from whence you came" when both creatures pulled up short, paused, cocked their heads and exchanged growls and snarls. They then dashed out. The large one paused to take another bite of one of the bodies as he went.

The two boys looked at Nancy in awe. She said, "They fled from the swords of angels. Solid are the walls of Jericho protecting the chosen, and you are the first of them."

From the other room, June stood up. She knew Nancy's pseudo-invocations had done nothing. The creatures actually retreated because, like June, they heard something beneath human perception: a motor. She rushed to the window and pressed her face against it.

"What happened?" asked Laura, who didn't have the enhanced hearing, who noticed only that the cries had stopped.

"A truck!" exclaimed June. "Somebody's here!" She looked toward the parking lot, but it was obscured by the storm. Colored lights spun with only the dimmest trace of refracted blue and red. "Police!"

"So, we're rescued?" asked Laura.

"No, not yet. I understood what they said. They'll fight to keep this place, if possible." June picked up the keys and went to the door. "I have to see what I can do out there."

June knew the police had at least bought the survivors some time. As June rushed out Laura stayed behind, looking tense.

The half-human girl arrived at the breached room to a horrific sight. A mere twenty-four hours ago, she would have collapsed, retching. Now she smiled in awe. The allure of it was weaker without her sense of smell, but the thrill still tingled deep. She reached down toward the blood, as two boys in the corner gawked at her.

_"Rose Petal,"_ _said the corporal from behind,_ _"you're embarrassing yourself."_

She came up short and covered her fangs like a shy girl concealing her braces. Two victims lay dead in separate, bright puddles of blood. A third one, to whom Nancy now preached her scrambled delusions, lay dying, eviscerated. June could see Nancy's words weren't soothing the wounded girl, whose internal organs were visible and mangled. June knew nothing could be done for her, and if she herself even got too close, she was just as likely to begin eating her.

_"Take charge again," the corporal urged._

Roy lay where he fell in the middle of the room. Coughing, he began to move. June saw the scar on his neck and knew he understood the beasts because he, too, was infected.

_"You're still human," said the corporal. "Protect them." _

"Yes sir," said June. She crouched down to Roy. "Can you walk?"

"Ow! Yeah, I think so," he coughed, got to his hands and knees and yelled, clutching his back.

"He let them in!" said the brown-haired boy.

"Forget that now," said June. "We got to lock down again."

The same boy, Tom, said, "What? That worked so well the first time!"

"Things are different now," said June. "The police are here. Go to the window and look. You can see the lights. We just have to hold out a little while longer."

The other guy, Ernie, with light blond hair went and stared out the window into the falling snow. "I don't see shit."

"To the side there!" said June, gesturing with her finger.

"No, I don't see anything!" said Ernie.

"Neither do I!" said Tom.

"Well, _I_ can hear them, and I saw them," said June.

"You brought demons upon my children!" said Nancy.

June took a step toward her. "For the last time. She arrived infected and ready to change. I was dragged into this, just like everybody else."

They heard the death-rattle. Nancy looked down to see the girl expire.

June helped Roy up with one hand, he groaned.

"I'll show you how to resist her commands," She whispered to him. She turned to the rest. "Come on! Let's get back in and lock up."

_"Good, you've taken charge of the resistance platoon,"_ _said a mocking voice by radio._

"Shut up!" she cried. The boys exchanged looks.

"We bring Sherry," said Nancy, indicating the deceased girl.

"She's fucking dead!" said June. She didn't want the temptation of fresh kills around any longer than they had to be.

"She's pretending," said Nancy. "I've blessed her with the ability to hide her life from creatures like you . . ."

June lost her temper. She bent down, broke the corpse's neck, lifted Nancy to her feet by her collar. "Now she's finished!" June growled, teeth bristling. She shoved Nancy away. "Come on!"

"You corrupt monster! Fall back to the pit of blood where you belong!" Nancy cried.

_"No!" said the corporal._

June halted the urge to strike a blow that was certain to have killed Nancy, and instead walked away. She called back. "You could stay out here or have a locked door between you and them. It's up to you." The boys followed her. To her surprise, Nancy followed as well.

Shay sat on the bed as June arrived back. Physically she looked terrible, but improved. Her voice was weak. "June?"

"Yes, it's me, Shay."

"Laura's gone."

"How?"

"Didn't you hear it?"

"No. Spirit voices don't carry. Did her eyes go black?"

"Yes, and she ran."

Everyone else walked in. Shay looked at their bloody clothes. "What the fuck's happening now?"

Going back to lock the door, June came back up to Shay, touched her on the head and said tenderly, "It's almost over. We're almost out of this."

As June lay a hand on the girl's shoulder, she wondered what would become of herself. There was no cure. She couldn't let the police see her like this. She would have hide- and wait. The disease had her, and she anticipated receding further and further into insanity.

_"There's still hope," said the chorus._

But it didn't volunteer any suggestions. Would Brigitte survive? June hoped so. She thought of Brigitte as her sister now, more so than with Angie. The Curse and, maybe, the necromantic magic she bore, perhaps imposed the bond on her, but she could not tell the difference between it and love. Despite everything, she felt like she had shared hardship with Brigitte. She knew Brigitte felt the same toward her.

_"You better not go there," said the corporal. "She's the enemy now." _

"What happened to your voice?" said Shay. "Wait, you look different."

"Full moon," June whispered putting her forefinger to her lips. Her sense of smell recovering, she caught Shay's scent and jumped. Brigitte was right. The smell distressed June and marked the girl as different. June recoiled, suspicious.

Everyone else mumbled among themselves but June paid no attention, she said, "There's nothing left to do. Police are here and they'll call back-up as soon they see the lob . . ." The tiny girl braced and slapped her forehead. "Wait!" She recalled the plank Brigitte placed through the door handles. "Except they can't get in!" She turned to Roy, pointed to a glass containing amber fluid and jabbered, "Roy, ammonia! Sniff it! She has no power over you if you can't smell her!" June rushed to the door, unlocked it and tossed the keys back. "Lock it! I should be right back!" Nancy caught them.

June sprinted toward the lobby.

* * *

The snow-cat vehicle carried six people, including Lewis, Frank, Arthur, a young RCMP constable named Kyle, Dr. Lorraine, and the Chief Inspector of the Wilbur Plains police, Harry. Wilbur Plains was not an RCMP office, but the hospital lay in its jurisdiction, and his force supplied the snow cat. The streetlights from the hospital showed him the direction, but didn't help visibility.

He stopped. "I can't see anything," he said with a Manitoban accent. "If I try to get closer, I'll hit something."

"This is it, then," said Arthur.

Lewis stayed quiet, knowing they would never would listen if he tried to warn them what might be ahead. He took a chance they would see enough to be receptive before anyone died. Though he bet his reputation on a catastrophe, he hoped he was wrong.

The group finished strapping on snow-shoes. Harry reached for a double-barreled shotgun. Lewis and Frank had satchels with other weapons. They disembarked into a blizzard of the likes none of them had ever seen. Everything was covered waist-deep. Parked cars looked like white mounds when visible at all. The wind droned and whipped snow in their faces, making both sight and communication a challenge. They trudged toward the blurry, white lights of the hospital. Dr. Lorraine walked in front, with Arthur and Constable Kyle, on her left and right, respectively. After them trudged Harry with Lewis and Frank on either side and a step behind him. The wind drowned out their trudging steps and dissolved their footprints as their vehicle faded into the white behind them. Only the dim, rolling lights, red and blue, diffracted through the snowfall, showed it even still existed.

* * *

June dashed into the lobby and recoiled in terror at a rhinoceros-sized, almost opaque, amber mist, rotating rapidly at balcony level. It stopped spinning abruptly without inertia. Its main body had a distinct, asymmetric, oval shape. From behind it, three limbs spanned out all over the room branching repeatedly into smaller tentacles. It had two orifices on one side filled with a blackness invisible from any other direction. Dilating, those mouths gaped at her now. Its chimeric hatred petrified her. She thought her heart had stopped. It keened at her, sounding like a bassoon ensemble playing loud and flat. She covered her ears, but, of course, it didn't help. This was some kind of spirit, a vermin out of Hell. As its rage screamed out, its tendrils reached walls and then spread downward.

When she could do anything, she snarled back. Only then did she know what this was. _Basil!_ The ghost's senseless body had metastasized into this bewildering creature. She grasped the skulls, which felt hot.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted.

It didn't obey. Instead, it swiped. A tendril hit her in chest above the skulls. She felt chilled and anticipated something worse, but instead, the apparition then faded away. As she gasped, trying to regain herself, she noticed it hadn't gone completely. A very thin mist lay around her. The skulls still felt warm almost hot.

As her terror faded, the massacre scene began to look pleasing to her again. Before it could overcome her, she sniffed the ammonia. Without warning, the liquid splashed on her nose. She coughed and blinked to get her eyes to clear. The lights began to flicker. She stood and hurried across the hall when the security monitors suddenly went to snow, causing her to jump and stare. It reminded her of something. Vigilant, she crept to the door. As she removed the plank something pick-pocketed her. She growled and pivoted into a crouch.

To her surprise, her gun levitated and fired itself at her. The first shot ricocheted off the door to her left, the next hit the wall over her head. She swiped at the pistol and missed it as it drew away from her too fast. It clicked on the empty chambers with machine-gun speed. Then the cylinder whirled and went flying out the side before the gun dropped and lay on the floor, inert once again.

She stood incredulous. _What could this be?_ Gunshots sounded from outside.

* * *

The group trudged against the wind until a large canine leaped out of the whiteout. Unlike any natural canine, it didn't have a complete coat and was heedless of its bald skin being exposed to the bitter cold. For those in the party, its shoulders and breasts looked too human. Its red eyes seared them with menace as it crouched on a car in front them. The roar it released surmounted the noise of the wind. Arthur and Kyle yelled the loudest. Everyone in the group froze, except Lewis, who drew his gun but didn't have a clear shot.

It growled more and bared canine fangs the size of a man's finger, seeming to dare them. Lewis tried to move forward, but the snow shoes impaired him.

The doctor fell as Arthur and Kyle backed away. They began draw their pistols when Harry yelled, "Get down, get down!" They ducked, and he fired both barrels, but the creature had already jumped away and disappeared into the whiteout.

Then the snow next to Frank exploded, and the largest werewolf Lewis had ever seen sprang out, knocking Frank off his feet. With a clear shot now, Lewis tried to fire, but he found he could only flinch and shake, visions of Daphne filling his head. The creature attacked Harry, catching him in reload. He screamed. Kyle and Arthur turned. The creature lashed out with a paw the size of a small hubcap, hitting Arthur's in the hip and knocking him aside like a tennis ball. The werewolf then dashed into the whiteout, taking the shotgun with it and pitching a cloud of snow up in its wake. Frank fired twice, but doubted he had hit it.

Arthur regained his feet with a huge hole where his coat pocket had been. Kyle helped Harry up as Lewis came up behind and shouted, "Frank, Arthur you two cover us. Everyone. Let's go! Get in the building quick!"

* * *

As June stood frozen, the flesh of one of the corpses bulged and then exploded in gore. Another corpse twitched, its stiff limbs creaked as it turned from its back to prone.

Her mind raced faster. The rules of the universe had changed yet again. In the corner of her eyes, she saw the snowy screens.

_"A mindless, enraged ghost!" said Dr. Gadepalli, by radio. "It's a poltergeist!" _

"Oh, no! Basil!" cried June. "And he's pissed at me!" The skulls should have some power over it, but she had no idea how to make it work.

Dodging as a plank careened at her, she heard rushed footsteps outside, and panicked voices. Fearing they would kill her on sight, she dashed toward the hallway. A corpse twitched and hit her foot. She stumbled, caught herself with one hand and gathered up the hammer she dropped earlier with the other. She rushed into the hall. The door opened. Her back pressed to the wall, she listened.

* * *

Those outside everyone obeyed Lewis and fled toward the front door, as fast as snowshoes would allow them. Lewis and Kyle carried Harry between them. They heard snarling around them as Frank and Arthur each fired at beasts that emerged from the whiteout and faded back out of sight. Dr. Lorraine reached the door first and fumbled with her keys. Everyone caught up and waited for her. She was about to insert the key, when Frank pulled the door open. It wasn't locked.

The doctor went in first and halted, blocking everyone.

"Get in!" Lewis cried, along with everyone else. In panic, they shoved her out of the way. She stumbled in, and the rest of the group entered. All of them, in turn, stopped and stepped aside, gaping.

The scene of butchery paralyzed them all, except for Lewis, who closed the doors and locked them with the keys the doctor dropped. The stiff, mutilated corpses were like sculptures of torment, one of them had somehow ruptured, and the smell was choking. Lewis never witnessed a werewolf bold enough to kill so many at once. It dawned on him Brigitte might be more heinous than even Daphne. Arthur dropped his pistol. Even Harry's moans and gasps stopped as the group went silent.

The lull wasn't broken until Kyle vomited. Dr. Lorraine fell to her knees. No wonder, Lewis thought; she had known all these people. Harry, fighting shock from his wounds as well as from the surroundings, groaned, "What did this?"

His scarf over his nose, Arthur rasped, "Those are teeth marks! Lewis, do you have an explanation?"

Lewis had his own nose covered and looked for a space to put the Chief Inspector. "You need see nothing else to believe it now: werewolves exist. Dr. Gadepalli and unknown associates abducted an infected female minor and brought her here. Now she's not a girl anymore."

Eavesdropping from the hall, June was so stunned at what she heard, she almost cried out. Instead of relief, however, she felt panic. The light above her flickered.

"Brigitte Fitzgerald," said Arthur. "You bastard, I should shoot you right now. Why didn't you warn us?"

"I debriefed you, remember? That novel, The Feral Bond, I wouldn't shut up about? I hope you listened. We have innocent people in danger, if they're not dead. This is definitely police business, but you wouldn't have believed truth until you saw it. I know; I certainly didn't." Lewis looked at the carnage around him. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I _was_ hoping for something more subtle, but this is worse than I thought. We have the patients to rescue, but I'm afraid we must be prepared to see something just as bad upstairs."

Harry groaned and shook, his hand bitten, Frank had wrapped a scarf around it. Blood had soaked through. Lewis wondered why a werewolf that size didn't take Harry's whole arm off? Then it became clear: of course, Jason wants an infiltrator.

Lewis said to Frank, who had taken over supporting Harry, "Let's find a place to lay him down." As Kyle finished retching, Lewis said to him, "Constable, if you're done there, look in that room," Lewis pointed to the office behind the security desk, "and see if we have a cleaner place to put him."

"If one of them is the Fitzgerald girl, who's the other one?" asked Arthur.

"That's Jason McCarty, but that's not important right now. What you need to know is, that monster is a two-year old male and much more powerful. They get worse as they age, and I've never fought one that old. They're a mated pair. They can communicate with each other, cooperate very well and know all about firearms."

Kyle stood up and stepped over the corpses on his way to check the office. Arthur asked, "Have you walked us into a trap?"

"No trap," said Lewis. "They weren't expecting us. Call for back-up and they'll retreat as soon as there's more armed manpower here. But until then, they'll fight."

"How do you know they'll fight?" asked Frank.

"Because they took a risk to spot and disarm the man with the shotgun."

June thought, _He knows everything about us. Oh, I'm fucked!_

"Nobody dead in here." Kyle called.

"Doctor," Lewis said, "Let's attend to the wounded."

Arthur pointed to the corpse with the head wound. "This one has been shot!"

_Oh no! _Thought June, who recalled it, but who couldn't discern what she willfully did from what Brigitte compelled her to do.

"Yes," said Lewis. "We have at least one _intermediate_ to deal with."

"Intermediate?" said Arthur.

"Infected person who hasn't changed yet. . . ."

_He knows that, too! _Thought June, just as the poltergeist shattered the the light above her with a loud pop and tingling of glass. She screamed, growled and rolled away from the swirling shards and hot dust the insane spirit was agitating.

In the lobby, everyone froze. Arthur fell into a crouch. "Somebody's there!" yelled Lewis.

Arthur and Kyle crept toward the hall, guns drawn. June fled. They reached the hallway just in time to see a tiny figure disappear around the distant corner.

* * *

The two werewolves stood outside the door, with their ears perked up, also eavesdropping. They whispered growling speech to each other. The red-eyed female said, _"He knows all about us. How?_"

The blue-eyed male said, "_Another reason to rip his flesh from his bones."_

_"But more will come."_

_"Then, love, we'll have more meat to chew_." He said, and then hissing from his throat like a cat added, "_Shhh! Listen!"_

* * *

They brought Harry into the office and laid him down on the desk. He was confused and semi-conscious now.

Meanwhile Arthur exclaimed, "My radio's gone!" He showed his torn coat and holster. "The beast must have knocked it off."

Lewis took out the black case with the syringes.

Dr. Lorraine's eyebrows went up. "What are those?"

"The cure for werewolfism," said Lewis. "I talked about it on our way out here."

"We shouldn't be using anything experimental . . ."

"It's not experimental," said Lewis.

"Constable," Arthur said to Kyle, "use your radio to call back-up."

Kyle just stood there looking blank. "I'm sorry inspector," he answered. "I don't have it. I left it in the snow cat." After a pause, he said, "It was a long trip."

Arthur glared at Kyle. "Constable, I'll have you up for disciplinary action. You never leave your radio in a vehicle in a remote location like this." Kyle hung his head.

Lewis had the syringe out.

"We can't use that radio," said Frank, looking at the old console in the corner, which was smashed.

"No," said Lewis. "An _intermediate_ got to it. Try his," he said, taking Harry's radio off his belt and tossing it to Arthur.

The doctor uncovered the wounded man's hand. Not only hadn't the bite started healing, as with the normal course of the disease, but Harry's whole hand was inflamed. Surprised, Lewis noticed Harry wheezed and was unconscious. Lewis undid the Chief Inspector's scarf. He saw hot-looking red spots on the neck.

"Oh, no!" said Lewis. "Doctor, look at this."

"Harold?" Arthur asked. "What is it, Lewis?"

"I've only seen this once before . . ." Lewis fretted.

"Seen what?" said Frank, noticing the man's red complexion and labored breathing.

The doctor was startled. "Why, it looks like anaphylaxis."

"What's happening?" asked Arthur. "Is he transforming?"

Lewis rushed the shot, "No, he's allergic. It's killing him, and this might not help."

"What is that you're giving him?" asked the doctor.

Lewis ignored the question. "Doctor, can you do anything?"

"Without epinephrine, not enough. Those aren't Epipens are they?" she said, pointing into Lewis' syringe case.

"No," said Lewis, injecting Harry with the counter-agent. "They just look like them."

"Do you have an infirmary?" asked Frank.

"We have our own medical ward on this floor," said the doctor, "but I'm not trained in emergency care."

Arthur spoke into the walkie-talkie, his voice rising.

"We need to get upstairs, too, but we can't split up," said Lewis.

"He could be dead in minutes if we don't get epinephrine," said the doctor.

They argued over it until Arthur said, "Hello. Hello? Somebody!" Then he held up the walkie talkie, his face angry. "Damn the Wilbur Plains force! This isn't a P25. This unit is ancient. I'd say it's only only for city patrol. It doesn't have enough range out here."

"Then we can't call in backup," said Frank, exasperated.

Lewis looked at Harry whose breathing sounded worse after the shot. "Not unless unless somebody goes back out there to get the constable's radio.

* * *

The werewolves listened outside the window. Their tongues came out as they laughed. The roaring wind did not impair their hearing.

_"No radio,"_ said the blue-eyed male.

_"Their flesh is ours,"_ said the female, her red eyes blinking.

_"They'll be splitting up, You stay here."_ He stomped his huge fore paw, _"if more come out than you can handle, call me."_

_"Don't leave me. Where are you going?"_ she asked.

_"I'll be in sick bay,"_ he said, turning away. _"If it's too much fun there, I'll call you."_

She watched him walk downwind and disappear into the snow. He was a beautiful creature, and she was enthralled with him, but she had misgivings about them splitting them up. _Why?_ She wondered.

* * *

Heedless of her location or direction, June sprinted through the halls, from the lighted to the darkened ones. Whispers, cries and music blared in her head, making the scraping and tapping from the poltergeist inaudible to her. Panting and weeping, she turned into a stairwell and collapsed, doubled over. Cramps and hunger racked her. She had bled out, her pants wet with blood. She knew it wasn't a menstruation, but a symptom. She could see the disease in her belly, the ugly glow, an extra organ pulsing within her.

No, she wasn't human now and would become less so. They would not accept her, and the sanity the doctor's pill gave her was wearing off. Where could she go now? She couldn't be with Brigitte; Jason would kill her. She would suffer all the wretched changes Brigitte and Ginger did, but she would be alone going madder and madder. It dawned on her now how much the dread of loneliness had driven her this last week.

_"You have us," said The Corporal, his uniform impeccable, his eyes so beautiful she wanted to tear him apart. He sat on the steps in front of her, with pretty, tasty birds perched all around him while cicada's circled, their voices whispering. _

The poltergeist banged and scratched on the rail. Dust fell.

"You said there was hope," June scoffed bitterly.

_"I'm sorry, Rose Petal. You know about luck. It's the key to any victory. Hope is never assured ." _

_ "Never, ever assured," echoed the parrots. Other birds chirped and cooed in chorus._

"Shut up!" June yelled back. She stood up. Her stomach growled and belly hurt. "I demand to see The Captain!"

_The Corporal got up, too, looking anxious. "No, you can't see him now." He suddenly stood before a door._

"I can see him whenever I want," she said.

"Why if it isn't the mini-bombshell," a sweet female voice chimed in. June jumped, whirled and struck, missing the figure that should have been behind her, but actually stood in the middle of the stairs above.

"Helen!" June cried. Covered with blood, the spirit's wounds were so extreme that her merely standing there looked to June like an Escher paradox.

_"Oh, no!" said The Corporal. "She's bad news."_

"Oh, you've changed so much," Helen gushed. "How do I look? Am I pretty to you now?"

June choked in shame. The spirit stood before her with all of her mortal wounds enticing, almost pornographic. So beautiful were they that June almost forgot her physical pains.

The ghost glided down the steps. Helen never moved so gracefully in life. "Ah! You wouldn't have anything to do with me when I lived. Would you fuck me now?"

Too shocked and shattered to answer, June could only listen to contradictory voices whispering in her head, where Rachmaninoff played in ensemble.

"Never mind. You look like you're having a bad day," said Helen. "But hey, nice new pet you have there."

"Pet?"

"The tap-dancer."

"Poltergeist?"

"Is that what it is? Fuck, I never thought I'd see one of _those_. Being dead's like tripping, but I swear it makes you smarter. It's very smart ganja." Helen came closer until she was within a foot of June, who was enthralled.

_"This is how lady luck really looks," the corporal mused._

_ "_You must be kidding," June said to him.

"No, not least," answered Helen.

June was tongue-tied, her thoughts lost in a chorus of voices.

Helen went on, "You've never been so quiet. I've been wondering, why didn't you tell us about her, baby?"

June's mind had stopped, but the voices began to possess her. "Nobody believes a crazy girl," they all said.

"Except another crazy girl who loves her," Helen pouted and sounded bitter. "You could have told me. I would have listened. And why didn't you warn me not to escape?"

"I had a blood oath to secrecy. I couldn't break it." June's mind scattered. "A whole army tried to get her out. We didn't know she would get so out of control."

Helen sneered, "No, it wasn't that. I know. You wanted the ride. You were using me."

"And you were using us!" the voices said, and June added, "Offering my pussy to guys so you could escape? You call that love? Your awful life messed you up so bad, Hels, you couldn't tell care from cruelty. I felt so sorry for you. You were numb. And that's how you got in trouble." The voices took over June's speech again. "Without us, those guys would have raped you and left you for dead anyway!"

_Applause broke out. June found herself in a spotlight. She looked out at a theater applauding her. Cicadas flew through the lights._

_ Dressed in a medieval costume now, _Helen stood there with June,and said,"Maybe I would have stayed dead, though."

_ Artillery thundered close. Plaster fell from the theater ceiling. The captain towered in the last row, at least twelve- feet tall now. Rabbits hopped about downstage, making June's mouth water. She was garbed in long, bloody, flowing robes. The audience whistled, the corporal walked up steps to hand her roses, but, revolted at her performance, June slapped them out of his hand. "Sing! Sing! Encore!" they all called. _

"It's too fucking crowded in here!" June screamed. "Leave me alone! All of you!"

"Cool it. Take it easy," said Helen, reaching for her.

June shrank from her, grabbed the skulls and commanded, "Don't you hurt me."

Helen put her hand in her own head wound . "Ow! You're supercharged! Sweetie, I wasn't even thinking of it."

_"The mission's not done, Rose Petal!" shouted the Captain._

"Fuck the mission!" June yelled, her voice echoing through the stairwell and down the halls. "This war's over! Over! I command it! I outrank you. I outrank all of you! Stop lying to me!"

_The crowd just applauded louder. The band in the orchestra pit began to play. Then something __breached the theater doors. The enemy had arrived. _

"They're going to hear you if you don't be quiet!" said Helen.

June ran stage left immediately crashing into the stairwell door. She yanked it open.

_June's sister stood there, a knife hanging in her bloodied ribs. The spotlight lit her up. _

"Angie!" June recoiled.

"June, there's nobody there," said Helen. "You're tripping balls now."

_"Have your cool, new friends not worked out?" said Angie. "You've failed them. I knew it would backfire because you're evil, June, and you've only brought the world to hell around you."_

"No, no, no! I did no evil! There is no evil!"

June backed down the steps, fell and tumbled down but stopped herself with limbs twisting at odd angles. Jumping to her feet, she smelled something. Werewolf. Male werewolf. Jason. She picked up the hammer she had dropped. If she could smell him, she knew he had smelled her much sooner.

_Up on the landing, Angie looked frightened. "Oh, no! Run!" _

_"Run!" shouted the corporal and captain together, beckoning her up. All of the voices repeated, "Run!" _

Helen stood watching, bemused, as June dashed up the steps to the landing. When the girl opened the door, his scent was much stronger.

_A whole chorus cried out, "NO! He's coming that way." _

She slammed it shut. She ran up two flights. As she exited, she heard the door two floors below open.

In a panicked sprint, June couldn't think, but instead followed her voices and hallucinations. She could hear him behind her._ "Oh mousy,"_ he said. _"Don't be a chicken now crazy little mouse! Come on. Let's __rumble, again."_

She rounded a corner and found herself in the girl's ward again. With its red-splattered halls, corpses, and smell of blood, death and soot. She came to the room and pounded on the door, shouting, "It's me! Let me in!"

Behind the door, Nancy said, "Go to hell."

"No! Nancy, this is no joke. He's going to kill me!"

"The devil rent by its own monsters," she said.

"Please let me in!"

"Sorry June," said a male voice. "She's ordered us."

"Guys! Don't listen to her. She's delusional."

"No, June," answered one of the guys. "Her powers saved us. You almost got us killed."

Within the room, June heard Shay screaming hysterically, "No! You can't leave her out there," along with the sound of a struggle. "June! June!" She cried.

June slammed her hammer against the door, and then smashed the glass. "This is murder!" she screamed. "You fucking traitors! You'll die for this! The Captain will seek you out in vengeance! Eternals will chase you forever!"

_"Have I interrupted an argument with your friends?"_ Jason snarled. Out of time, June could see him in the dim light far down the hall. A dark, shadowy atavistic, canine-man, large as a bear, but trimmer, not running, but sauntering toward her. When he emerged into the light, he licked something off the floor. _"Your blood is so tasty."_

She fled. He could open doors; hiding in a room would be suicidal. She dived over the nurses' counter, somersaulted and landed crouched, facing away.

_"Bloody little rabbit, jump in your hole, and I'll dig you out,"_ the werewolf growled, closer.

The door to her right led toward an exit. She twisted the knob but it wouldn't open. She rushed to another door, touched the latch when she heard a loud bang. A huge shadow engulfed her. _"Ah, hah!"_ Jason snarled, balancing on the counter like a large tiger standing on a small rock. His hateful blue eyes pinned her to the wall, spittle dripped from his fangs. His odor choked her and made her tingle. His salivating jaws looked large enough to rip her shoulder off and swallow it whole. The music, the whispers, all the interference in her head went silent now. She knew this was the end, and he would make it excruciating.

She yanked the door open. He sprang.

"Dog!" she spat. She dodged and swung the hammer backhanded.

And this time she hit him right in the eye.

* * *

Ginger awakened from _coldsleep_ into a blizzard, her last memory being the quarrel with June. She heard a howl but could see nothing. She called, "Bee!" Her voice surmounted the wind and echoed back to her un-muffled by the snow.

Racked with dread, she knew Brigitte was ahead but couldn't see her. Ginger's tight skirt and high-heeled fashion boots were incongruous in a hard blizzard, but she moved lightly on top of the snow without sinking or sliding. Wind roared in her ears, but she didn't feel it blowing. Snowflakes passed through her by the thousands, but she felt none of them. She was a creature of mist and cold herself.

A wolf outline became distinct in the whiteout. The trail toward her sister ended with this beast. "Brigitte, Oh . . . no!" Ginger cried out, "What happened to us?"

Its red eyes stared back indifferent to her lament. It growled in annoyance rather than threat. Ginger wondered: why? Their deep bond that should have lasted forever, the oath, the magical necklaces, her own return from the dead, and her sister's heroic struggle, none of it had mattered after all. Not even the miracle of June and her abilities had stopped it. Ginger now had no doubt this was her damnation. What had she done that was so heinous? She still didn't know, and that was to be her torment over a lonely eternity. She sank to her knees.

The red-eyed creature recognized Ginger, who could understand a word of its lupine English. "_I'm not your sister," _the werewolf growled._ "But you would have been my sister. You're a miserable ghost of an abortion, and you're out of place with me. Fuck off and go back to where the dead should be."_

Then, the werewolf went back to its task. It howled a message to its mate. _"They're not coming this way." _Ginger closed her eyes and held her breath, until icy sleep swallowed her once again. The creature saw her fade and sink into the snow. As Ginger's consciousness dissolved, the broken spirit hoped the _coldsleep_ would finally be eternal.

* * *

Lewis refused to split the group up. They had carried the wounded man to the infirmary with Arthur and Frank guarding their moves. Now the stricken man gave a death rattle. His swollen face had turned from red to purple. The rash on his neck had become large sores.

"His blood pressure dropped so quickly," said the doctor. "I'm sorry, the epinephrin didn't help."

Everyone stayed silent until they heard the howl from outside.

"They're communicating," said Lewis, as he finished assembling the pump-action shotgun. "Arthur, can you carry this?"

"Yes, I'll carry it," Arthur answered, putting his pistol away. "Don't you think we should go out and get the radio?"

"No, out there they have every advantage over us. We're responsible for the patients. We have to check the situation upstairs. The weather will be clear by morning. We'll venture out then."

* * *

Red-eyes did not get an answer from her mate, even though she knew the humans hadn't gone up yet. Suspicious, she began to run back toward their passage in the rear of the building.

* * *

June blinded him in one eye, but her triumph didn't last two seconds. He knocked her into the room, a padded cell where Brigitte had piled corpses the night before like a makeshift morgue. Her arm already bleeding, June fell prone over one of them. Jason pounced on top of her, the poltergeist shutting the door behind him. The beast's jaws closed over the back of her head. She screamed as his teeth punctured her scalp. June tried to reach behind. His claws tore her arm and his teeth penetrated her skull. The head wounds paralyzing with agony, her limbs exploded with needles worse than with the monkshood. His claw raked deep over her back, once, twice, three times. Blood splattered the floor, the wall, the corpses. He shook her head, not hard enough to break her neck, but hard enough to make it tormenting. He smashed her nose into the floor and it broke and bled. She choked and shrieked.

As the werewolf made her its chew-toy, the poltergeist threw the hammer from one wall to another, as though playing handball with itself.

* * *

Her face red with rage, Shay screamed to Nancy, "Bitch! How could you? She tried to help us!" Two boys restrained the tall girl. Meanwhile, Roy just stood in the corner and cried.

"If you're not with God, you're part of the great Evil," said Nancy. "Get out, you whore! You are banished."

"Gladly," Shay declared. "I'm not staying here with any of you fuckers. Let me out. Open the door!"

Nancy yelled, "Search every corridor in Hell for her, and be wed to the beast. You turn your back on God, so I do the same to you."

"Whatever, just let me the fuck out of here you crazy bitch!"

Nancy unlocked the door. The boys tossed Shay out. Roy threw a crutch after her.

The door shut and locked behind her. Shay got up. She looked up and down the empty hall. "June?" she called. She limped up to the nurse's station. "June?"

Behind the counter, a muted monitor showed the padded cell. On that screen, within the sound-proof room, the werewolf mauled June, but Shay did not see it, did not look that way. Instead she limped by calling, "I'm here, June! I'm with you. You're not alone."

"Shay," called a voice, not June's, which made the limping girl jump. She pivoted on the crutch and nearly fell when she saw what and who it was.

"Hels?" Shay rasped, terrified by her undead friend's appearance.

"June is . . ." suddenly the ghost stopped, it's eyes widened, looking at something behind Shay. "You better run, honey!"

Shay turned. The red-eyed werewolf was running, bearing down on her. It roared,_"Run if you can, vermin." _

* * *

The male werewolf clamped on June's hip, picked her up, shook her like a toy and tossed her. She landed on her mutilated back screaming. He pounced on her, cracking her sternum and ribs. With her wind out of her, she tried to hold him off but he tore into her hands. She kicked; he ripped her ankle, calf, thigh, and then slashed her abdomen so deep he exposed bleeding organs. Overcome with the pain and shock, her resistance waned and she was defenseless. Now she could sense his wicked delight at mutilating her genitals and ripping into her breasts with his fangs. The pain was horrid. Once finished, his claws grabbed and punctured her neck.

Her breathing came back. Between her gasps, she understood him say, _"You're fucking delicious, you little cunt," _Her blood drooled from his fangs into her eyes, and she couldn't move her head. _"Enough with the foreplay. I'm hungry."_

The werewolf came up short, startled, hearing the cracking of joints. Two of the corpses had turned over, their dead eyes gazing at him. Bristling in fear, uninformed of the poltergeist, he pounced at the first one.

* * *

Brigitte bore down on Shay, who dived into the nearest door. Before she could slam it, the beast had its head inside. The werewolf knocked her down, bit her below her bad knee and slashed her other leg with a claw. Screeching, teeth bared, Shay grabbed a bottle and smashed it on the creature's face. The werewolf yelped and snarled with ammonia in its eyes and nose. Then Shay broke the crutch over its head. As the creature recoiled, the enraged girl grabbed another bottle and threw it. It hit the beast square in the nose but didn't break. In pain, blind, the monster retreated. Shay stabbed at it with the splintered wood of the crutch. It withdrew from the room. She tried to slam the door, but it was broken. Outside, the beast snarled obscenities at her and waited for its vision and smell to recover. Having been hit with backsplash too, Shay could hardly see, and the caustic fluid stung inside her leg wounds. She hobbled through the door at the other side, trailing blood, entering the very room with the steps where the whole nightmare began for her.

Before the beast could pursue, it heard the ping of an elevator arriving in the boys' ward. The rescue party had arrived, and they were armed. Frustrated, it knew killing Shay would have to wait yet again. It found its mate's scent as fast as it could.

* * *

The male werewolf had just finished shredding a corpse. The door opened. Its mate stood there, her eyes even redder. She blinked them at June, who was in her death throes, and then glared at him.

_"What is that stench on you?" _snarled the male, his eye swollen and leaking blood. _"Did you let them give you a bath?"_

The female roared back,_"And you smell like maggots. How dare you kill her? She's kin." _

_ "Not by my nose," _he said, circling his mate._ "I'm the only kin-maker in our pack. You are out of line." _

The Brigitte werewolf protested by swishing her tail and showing her teeth, but under his dominance, she couldn't say any more. Her attachment to him superseded hers with June. _"They're here." _she said._ "Come on."_

They ran out.

June lay on the floor, panting and in shock. Her bleeding ebbed. Aware only of agony, she didn't notice the poltergeist made the putrid limbs and tissue crawl around. Nor did she notice Helen walking up. Weightlessly, the spirit glided and knelt next to her.

She said, "Oh, dearest, I'm so sorry! You look horrible." June's glazed eyes rolled randomly, unable to focus.

"Maybe it's better this way?" Helen continued. June's pain was so overwhelming Helen sounded tiny and far away. "You don't want to become one of those things. With luck you'll become a ghost now, and maybe we can keep each other company? Be together forever?"

The wounded girl moaned, a chance response to excruciating pain having nothing to do with what Helen said.

"Oh, I know it hurts so much." Helen reached her hand as if to caress June's bloody hair. Instead, the spirit's fingers penetrated June's head. A second later, the ghost recoiled and faded away.

It was an act of mercy. June's pain abated. She perceived herself and her surroundings now. Unable to move her head, she lay propped on something. Piled corpses, she guessed. Never did she think her small body held so much blood. Even with her blurred vision she saw enough to know this was fatal. Worse, Jason's scent was all over her, making her feel violated, raped and plundered. It was some solace to know she got one good shot in on him. Somehow he had missed tearing the necklaces, their skulls lay to the side the cords still around her neck. Her blood was on them. They glowed like embers and radiated heat she could feel it on her face.

She felt herself dwindling. The throbbing in her belly was stronger than her diminishing heartbeat, and she could see a glow down there. The wall became a mirror and she stood within it unwounded and naked. Her perception split, and she looked back at her dying self from within the glass. There behind her, all of her familiar hallucinations stood solemn and silent in vigil over the dying girl, June Isabelle Collier. Except for them, she was dying alone, having alienated her family and friends and failing Brigitte and Ginger and all the patients and staff when she was the only one who could help them. The hallucinations were no solace. A tear washed a trail through the blood on her face.

"_You did not fail . . ." said the captain, his voice far away. It waned and was gone._

The scene became hazy and full of glare, but then the room began to fill with blood. She couldn't see where it came from. As it rose, it made all the corpses and body parts float, but not her. The hot, viscous liquid was engulfing her gradually up to her neck, which she couldn't move. Her dulled perceptions turned vivid enough to feel panic. Death was no peace.

"Three . . . times," June rasped with her final breath before the rising fluid submerged her and forced itself into her nose, mouth, choked her throat, and finally invaded her lungs.

* * *

**A/N** **12/3/2011:** _I know what you're going to say: Brigitte and Ginger are hardly in the story anymore. I found it necessary to the narrative. Brigitte was distinguished by her long heroic struggle against the curse. She would have to become an utterly different character to embrace it. Meanwhile Ginger's lack of a solid, physical body and her forced attachment to either Brigitte or June limits her. As a spirit, what would happen to her if Brigitte changed? I was committed from the beginning to Brigitte going through the entire transformation. Also that the sister's roles would be reversed. Ginger is still fifteen and helplessly trying to stop her "older" sister from changing. Meanwhile, Brigitte has become the "older" sister with her "little" sister now enthralled with her, "attached at her wrist."_

_What I didn't expect at the beginning was what happened in this chapter: June's showdown with Jason. After setting it up I felt I had to go there. But, of course, there would be no way she'd win. As Ginger said, June wasn't an action hero._


	32. Hostage Exchange

**_A/N (3/7/2012):_**_I__ waited so long to finally write the scenes in this chapter. I'm happy to finally present it. This chapter's nonstop action.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 32:**

HOSTAGE EXCHANGE

Wade toted weapons and gear into the snowcat. The blizzard was dying down. Ben stood next to him and talked on a cellphone. "Yes, Wade thinks it's critical we get there STAT." He pulled the cell from under his scarf and hat and said to Wade, "He wants to talk to you."

Wade gestured to the car trunk. "Load the rest."

He took the phone and got into the driver's side. "Hello, Hiram . . . Yes, we're packing right now. Thanks for securing the 'cat. Did Thomas upload the maps I requested? . . . Did he encrypt them?" Wade closed the door.

Ben finished loading and entered the passenger side to overhear Wade. "Don't say the WW word over the phone. They have so much surveillance capability. I mean, ears_ everywhere_ . . . Lewis is in even more trouble than it looks. . . . Yes, I can fill in the gaps. I know who hired Dr. G. . . . No, I can't tell you on the line. . . . Because they had no idea what they were handling with her. . . . Now? This outfit will either clean house and cover it up or try to recoup their lost investment. Probably both. I'll brief you in person once we're out. . . .

"If we succeed, I plan to head overland south toward Riding Mountain Park. We're going to need shelter, so I hope those maps show cabins. We'll call when we're out of the dead zone . . . thanks."

Wade hung up. He handed the cell back to his partner.

Ben, in his mid-forties, looked tired. "You know we're not up to this. Not after a thirty hour drive."

Wade wrote something on a piece of paper. "The men they're putting in had a worse commute."

"Yes, but those are trained soldiers; we're just a couple of dilettantes."

"They're mercenaries," Wade turned on the dome light and studied the controls. "Their skills vary depending on who _Che-Ops_ could throw in." He handed Ben the paper. "Here, go to that site; download the maps into the laptop while we still have access."

Ben reached back, picked up the computer. "I've had some time to think. Your story has gaps."

Wade inserted the key. "You have questions?"

A tension in his partner's voice informed Ben he guessed right. "Nothing that you'd answer now that you've suckered me into this. No way you learned all about this organization. Not unless you had access to their network to begin with"

Wade gazed at him and started the motor.

Ben went on, "Our Team isn't the only one you're on. You're like Dr. Gadepalli, aren't you? You're an inside man with this _Che-Ops_."

"I contract with a lot of agencies." Wade shrugged, put the 'cat into gear and pulled out on the empty road.

"Dr. Gadepalli was a contractor, too, according to what you told me. So, you don't deny it. You're a double-agent between our_ Team_ and _Che-Ops_. Who are you in bed with and who are screwing?"

"Not double. Coincidental. Isn't that clear?"

Ben didn't answer. For a while, the motor and continuous crushing of snow were the only sounds. Wade finally said, "Talk about this anywhere but in here, and you'll put both our necks in a noose."

* * *

Shay limped down the steps and beheld Laura's corpse at the bottom. The stench gagged her. She strode over it, dripped blood into its murky eyes, and doubled-over retching. An inhuman moan startled her.

The child-ghost, Annabelle, peered at her with its mad black eyes. Another spirit levitated inert as Annabelle's invisible hands picked hunks off like cotton candy. Only half the top torso remained. No blood or organs showed, just a waxy gooiness, the head gone, one arm extended.

And Shay had thought nothing else could shock her.

The demented apparition made a death-rattle moan, but turned back to its kill. Shay gave it a wide berth. She headed through the debris toward the exit at the other end. It paid no more attention to her.

Transfixed by its abnormal feeding, Shay stumbled and fell. Getting to her feet, she found her swollen knee had healed, so had the bite wound underneath. How?

Her stomach sank. _Oh, no!_

A crash and a snarl sounded from the steps above. Two werewolves had joined pursuit, and the second one was huge. Infected, she could now discern words in their growls. _"Shay, Shay, come out and play!"_

She fled out the door into the old wings. Her infected eyes super-adjusted, and the pitch-dark became twilight. The hallway cluttered with old furniture, Shay turned the direction with the most. She squeezed between the closely-packed junk and threw obstructions behind her.

Here, the werewolves' horizontal bodies couldn't match her speed. They swore in snarling, receding voices beneath the crashes of detritus thrown and upended.

With a crash, the huge werewolf leaped on top of the heap. He lunged at Shay, but the junk collapsed underneath him. He fell as his claw snatched at her and missed. A bookcase toppled on him. The clutter ahead abated, and she sprinted away.

She rushed through the dark halls. The weird sourceless light of her new vision made everything a bleak gray accented with coarse shadows. It looked like the setting of every nightmare she had until two nights ago. She wanted to break down and cry, but the creatures in pursuit terrified her much worse.

Panting, she ran making many turns until her legs muscles boiled. She hadn't heard the werewolves behind her in a long time. When she stopped, she dry heaved.

_"Aw, you're so sick and tired," _the red-eyed female growled. Shay could even discern the sarcasm in its tone. It peered at her from down the hall. She turned the other way, and the huge, blue-eyed male glared at her from there. They had her flanked and surrounded.

She threw herself back into a door. It banged open. She stumbled into a large room with big, old, mesh-steel shelves in two long rows. She rushed to the nearest, pulled herself up.

_ They can't climb!_

And she was wrong. Snarling, Red-Eyeschomped down on her ankle. Stabbing, crushing pain made Shay spasm and scream. Her elbows caved. She fell a level, caught herself. Red-Eyes pulled. Groping, grasping, Shay's wounded hand found an open box with long, copper pipes inside. "Fuck you!" She swiped down and smacked the creature in the face. The werewolf fell off. The other pipes from the box hit the floor around it.

The noise rang in Shay's ears. She felt the rack shaking from the opposite side. She swept around blindly in time to bash the male in the head but he knocked the pipe from her grip. His claw raked back at her. She swerved her legs out the way, shinnied to the front of the shelf and found purchase.

The female jumped at her. Shay dodged, crying out, shifting weight painfully on her wounded ankle. Meanwhile, Red-Eyes pulled things off the shelves in decent. Heavy boxes landed on the creature, who staggered, swearing, slipping on the rolling pipes. Shay reached over the highest shelf and shoved a heavy box off on the male. He tumbled down. She pulled herself to the top and tried to catch her breath. Down below, the werewolves circled, kicked pipes out of the way and mocked her.

_"Oh look! Our rabbit thinks she's a squirrel,"_ the female said.

_"Let's shake her tree!"_ The male took a running start, jumped and crashed high into the shelf, which shook and swayed. Boxes fell. Shay screamed.

They belched and spit laughter at her. The female said, _"Harder."_

Now they both took a running start. Shay sighted an adjacent shelf and leaped. She landed on the bad ankle. Pain made her cry out. Behind her, their impact tipped the first rack into hers. She jumped upward and draped arms over an old duct on the ceiling. Below her, the second shelf toppled into a third, a fourth. The whole row went down like God's dominoes. The crashing shook the room and and made her ears clang.

Blood seeped from her ankle in steady drops, tempting her body with shock. Her broken little finger dangled from her left hand. The bracket that fastened the vent buckled. Plaster above crumbled, choked and blinded her. She slung her good leg up. It found a toehold; she pulled herself up. More dust fell as the structure strained over its limit, but held. She lay twenty-five feet up.

The noise below settled.

Her shaking limbs rumbled on the hollow metal. Shay laughed, sobbed and panted. "Assholes!You can't get me up here."

_"Why, we don't have to," _said the female,red eyes staring. _"Every bird has to land sometime, but you can't, can you? And who's ever going to hear you caw?" _

They laughed a final time and sauntered out. She called to them, "You couldn't kill me. You bitch! You fucking moon-hounds! You couldn't kill me!"

Her one consolation, sterile of any hope.

* * *

"Where did the rest go?" asked Lewis.

The youth, named John shook. "Int–o the old wings, I think."

"Oh, no!" said Lewis.

Dr. Lorraine's face dropped.

The rescuers had discovered plenty of blood and gore, but few people, alive or dead, and no staff. Survivors told of a half-changed girl named June who locked them up for safety. None seemed to know what had happened to her. Lewis recognized the name. Dr. Gadepalli was supposed to drive her to the halfway house when he disappeared.

"See, she didn't lie," said Roy to Tom.

"What old wings?" asked Kyle.

Lewis turned to him, "The building's huge and mostly abandoned. If they're scattered in deserted portions, they'll be hunted down like rabbits before we could find them."

A girl looked at Lewis, her eyes wide. "And which side are you on?"

Dr. Lorraine answered instead. "We're here to rescue you, Nancy."

"God's chosen people don't need your slavery, doctor," she said. "You've done the Evil One's work enough. Behold I brought them redemption. Behold!" The wild-haired girl gestured to the others, who looked frightened and confused.

"What do we do now?" asked Arthur.

Lewis answered, "We find a safe, secure room and fortify it. The beasts should flee when other rescue arrives."

"But if they're secretive, as you said, don't we know too much?" said Arthur.

"They know we're well armed," Lewis answered.

Frank, standing guard down the hall, called "Lewis! Come here!"

He hurried. Frank pointed to a video monitor showing a padded cell. Corpses were piled within. Something moved, but the signal kept snowing and breaking up.

"Doctor," Lewis called and gestured for her to come. "Constable, Arthur, bring the survivors up here and guard them. Let nobody get out of sight."

Dr. Lorraine joined them and squinted at the screen. "That's the Is-Ob room."

"Show us," said Lewis. "Frank cover me."

The doctor took them to the door behind the counter. Lewis had his Walther ready. She yielded to him. He turned the latch and pushed.

He and Frank recoiled at the stench before forcing themselves to step in. The carnage here was worse than the lobby. Even with fewer corpses, this room was enclosed and smaller, the odor more aggressive. A several bodies were shredded, mutilated after death.

Lewis felt some enraged presence chill him, prickling his skin. For the first time in his life, he knew ghosts existed. As if to confirm this, a hammer flew by him. It hit Frank in the chest with a thud. Lewis pointed his gun from where it came, but nothing alive was there. He glanced back.

Franked gasped and held the hammer. "I'm all right."

A small girl's corpse drew Lewis' attention. Unlike the others, this was fresh kill. Her clothes and flesh were in tatters. She lay in a bloody pool with splatters and splashes radiating out from her delicate, mutilated body. Her head was propped on another corpse. The face was turned way from Lewis, hidden by crimson-soaked hair. He could tell by the claws who it had to be. _June Collier._ Her stage of development puzzled him, an _intermediate, _but far too progressed to be explained by recent infection. Even more surprising were the skull necklaces. Lewis recognized them from Brigitte's photo album.

_How did she come by those? _He reached toward them.

Frank rasped, "Look . . . look!"

Even before turning, Lewis felt dread hit his gut like an anvil, for he never expected to hear Frank panic. A mere a day-old corpse sitting up, bloated, pale tongue lolling and cloudy eyes pulsing heart-like wouldn't have been enough to unhinge Frank; except its entrails were also slithering out along the floor.

Frank shot it in the head. It collapsed. Unlike zombie movies, gray ichor sprayed out of the wound back at them. Its intestines went berserk, writhing around randomly like tentacles in the sea.

"Get out!" Lewis yelled.

They retreated. Out in the hallway they vomited.

The poltergeist cracked the door back open. Had its mischief not interrupted Lewis, he would have observed June's claws growing. Her body also radiated heat like a steam pipe.

And ground its teeth.

* * *

"We're facing something more than just werewolves here," said Frank. He and Arthur finished stacking the barricade with the large desk and old couches. They chose this room for its solid door, lock and frame. He turned to Lewis. "What haven't you told us?"

"I would never omit anything like that." said Lewis. His hands had stopped shaking. He duck taped the last auto-injector to a broomstick. He had already done the other two.

All twelve people were inside a room. Dr. Gadepalli used it to store his old office furniture, now stacked against the door. While Frank and Arthur finished buttressing their defense, Dr. Lorraine consoled and examined the patients as Lewis instructed. Kyle guarded the weapons cache.

Frank ejected the clip from his Glock and checking it, "Surprised is not the word."

"Whatever it was hasn't followed us, " said Lewis.

Frank reloaded. "Shooting it in the head didn't help. We don't have anything that can fight the undead."

"Which means don't need to reload every five minutes. Settle down, Frank, or you're going to have an accident."

Arthur stared at the broom sticks with the spring-loaded syringes. "What are those for?"

"In case they break in we can use these as spears. Believe me, you want to avoid taking them hand-to-hand."

"Does it cure the ones that are completely animal?"

Lewis paused. "They're effective, but not immediately. So these can't be our first line of defense."

"No!" said one youth, who resisted the doctor's examination. "I'm okay!"

Lewis walked to them. "Is your name Roy?"

Roy turned to him. "I don't need her looking at me," he said.

"Why? You've nothing else to do. Please cooperate with the doctor."

"This bitch is nosy enough," Roy answered.

Lewis asked, "Did you encounter them? Did they bite you or wound you?"

"No."

"Yes he did," said John, sitting in the corner. "She took him away."

"He opened the door for them," Tom added.

"You fucking snitch," Roy cried. He lunged, but Frank caught and held him.

Lewis saw the scar on Roy's neck. The teen flinched to cover it. Lewis knew what to expect if he questioned any further. "He's dangerous. Arthur, Frank."

They grappled him. Roy screamed and struggled. "I didn't. He lied! Don't kill me you son-of-a-bitch!"

_No, he doesn't have the strength yet,_ thought Lewis. He pulled out the needle. "I know that's what you must say. Don't worry," he said. "This will cure you."

"Fuck you!" Roy cried.

He poked Roy in the shoulder. The youth yelled. After a brief struggle. His eyes shut, his mouth locked wide open. His hands knotted.

"Let him go now," said Lewis.

The boy's arms pulled up under his neck, then his body curled up. He didn't shake, but his muscles tensed solid. Roy went bright red, then purple. Everyone gathered around silent. He seemed to not be breathing.

Arthur looked worried. "Lewis . . ."

"He'll be okay."

Just as he spoke, Roy awakened as though from a nightmare. He panted. Milky drops of sweat beaded on his face. "They forced me– what did the fuck I do?" The rest of the patients began to talk, amazed.

"You'll feel more relief in a few seconds," said Lewis.

Somebody knocked, startling everyone.

"Lewis? Lewis," came a female voice from outside.

He approached, leaned over the furniture to put his ear up to the door. "Who are you?"

"Is this Lewis?"

"Yes."

"Should we let her in?" asked Arthur.

Lewis raised his palm to him.

Outside, she went on, her voice shaking. "He told me to give you a message."

"Who? Who sent you?"

"The big w–" she gagged, "one."

Arthur looked incredulous. "They use translators?"

Lewis whispered to him, "An infected person can understand them."

"They speak?" said Arthur.

This annoyed Lewis. "Yes, English!" He lifted his forefinger to his lips. He had told Arthur all this, but his friend still couldn't believe it, and this was no time for a review.

The girl gasped between words. "He said they can find and kill us at will, and – they'll be leaving us outside this door–" she whimpered, "until you and your friends come out."

Arthur shook his head, his eyes unfocused. "They're killing hostages?"

Lewis answered, "Tell them––" but snarls and screams interrupted him.

Then silence. They paused. Blood flowed under the door.

"What do we do?" asked Frank.

Lewis brandished his Walther. "Take a look."

The three took down the barricade. They called Kyle up and had weapons readied. Then they checked outside. A dead girl lay in blood. The red liquid was also used to trace an arrow on the wall, still wet and dripping, pointing left.

"Do we just fall into a trap?" asked Arthur.

Lewis stared back, recalling where he last heard the phrase. This was like fighting Daphne in Saskatchewan again, only now he was responsible for many more people. He sighed and grimaced. "Can you think of better bait for us?" He lifted his shoulders. " I can't order any of you, but if something isn't done, they'll kill thirty innocent, defenseless people. Are you coming with me?"

"Count me in," said Frank.

Kyle looked grim. "Me too."

After a pause, Arthur added, "I'm with you."

Lewis walked back in to Dr. Lorraine. He held up an automatic pistol. "Do you know how to shoot this?" he asked.

"Yes, but . . ."

He gave the firearm to her, then took out the last syringe. "Don't open that door until we're back. But if you do anyway and live, and anyone shows scars or bite marks, give them this. Don't ask them questions or say anything. Just give it to them." He handed it to her.

They divvied up equipment and weapons, including the "spears." Lewis carried two, Frank one. Kyle took charge of the light. Arthur brandished the pump-action shotgun. He and Lewis each wore a pair of night-vision goggles.

"Let's go, then," said Lewis.

They headed out. Dr. Lorraine locked the door behind them. They followed the arrow, rounding a corner left. Blood was smeared on the floor in a swath, forming a trail, as though a body was dragged just to paint it. It led way down the hall where the lights failed, forming a dark tunnel.

A woman with dazzling blond hair stood out vivid in the shadows. She beckoned them. They crept closer. As details became clear, they stopped and gasped at once, their courage wavering. She was not human, not anymore, and wasn't even corporeal. They mistook her hair for blond, but it was actually white, and it shifted as though in a breeze, but without wind. Her eyes were black like sunglasses with invisible rims. Her physical appearance was full of paradoxes. The stark shadows on her body varied, but not according to the light.

She waited, and finally moved up to them with a silent gait, almost a glide. "Why do you stall, mortals? I'm here to guide you." Her voice sounded far away. She smiled, her teeth distinct within the unholy blackness of her mouth.

"Who are you?" Frank dared ask, Lewis being too tongue-tied.

"I have no name anymore, but you can call me Laura. For a while."

* * *

The poltergeist fidgeted, making the body parts crawl all over June. The spirit was hateful enough to send one down her airway but didn't understand breathing.

June's eyes opened. They were orange, with large, canine irises. She snarled and sobbed, shifted her head, cracked her neck and spine and moved her limbs. Her claw grabbed a disembodied hand crawling on her. She bit into it. Bones popped between her jaws, as she devoured it in four bites.

What possessed her body now was a hungry, rabid beast devoid of mind and personality. This was a form of werewolfism even Lewis had never seen, caused by an acute infection of the Curse directly into her brain. This creature knew fight and flight, but little of the latter.

It whipped its torso, catapulted itself. The crawling body parts flew off. It landed in a crouch. Twenty pounds lighter than June, famished from healing and resurrection, it began eating the remains, but shortly gave up. Carrion could not sustain it. Seeking fresh kills, it exited the room through the open door.

The poltergeist followed, restless, waiting for its opportunity.

* * *

To Ginger's grief, her sleep wasn't eternal. She awoke in a place she first mistook for Hell, a large room, like some kind of gym. Her sister, or rather the red-eyed werewolf, crouched behind a doorway. Distracted, it hadn't yet spotted her.

Many spirits dwelt here now. Most were insane. Their eyes were empty, their skin ceramic white. They gesticulated and danced to nonexistent music, out of sync with each other, a combination of St. Vitus' and Danse Macabre. Some sported wounds, others scars. When they wore blood, it showed brightly. Most looked consumptive and emaciated, almost dressed skeletons. Ginger could feel the manic energy driving them. It rumbled in her head and drew her toward insanity.

She took this all to be a dream now, where there was no evil because nothing was real.

A few hadn't turned into banshees yet, and one of those she recognized as a patient, and sported grievous wounds. An articulate growl rang out.._"Silence you fucking idiots. They're coming."_

Everyone, no matter how mad, obeyed the werewolf. She felt awed by its voice. The snarl had come from above. On a catwalk, a huge beast stood, balanced on the railing. She recognized him: _Jason._ _What a killer he is!_ Ginger found herself admiring him, wishing to see slaughter.

Outside a door on the opposite wall, a flashlight shone. Somebody was about to enter.

* * *

Laura wouldn't answer questions. She only grinned capriciously. They stopped asking her anything because they didn't want to see her ghoulish smile again. They discovered night vision glasses made her invisible, so Kyle walked in front carrying the flashlight, Frank beside. Lewis and Arthur guarded the flank.

Lewis didn't have time to wonder what he had gotten these men into. He hadn't counted on the powers here. The werewolves somehow were in alliance with or even in command of them. _Maybe _nematon_-dark matter storms affected spirits, too?_ The creatures had every advantage now save firearms. He had to keep the other men wary of the trap to be sprung.

The hall opened into an area that was much more spacious. "Stay alert," he said. "They're here somewhere." He didn't whisper. He knew the werewolves would hear him regardless.

An open doorway to the left lead to a large room, like a gymnasium. Laura turned her head back, and beckoned them with a curling forefinger. She entered with the men behind her. Lewis and Frank tried to flourish their handguns to cover every direction.

"Look!" said Arthur, at least twenty leering spirits about, flickering like fireflies.

"What?" said Lewis, who couldn't see them.

Then Laura spun to face them, screeched and attacked. The noise keened in their skulls, jamming their thoughts and paralyzing them.

The trap was sprung.

* * *

Dr. Lorraine would have barricaded the door, but she was left to babysit eight terrified, un-medicated, mentally-ill teenagers. She hated to hold them at gun-point, but Nancy's paranoia was out of control. The schizophrenic girl gazed askance at the pistol. Worse, she had gained influence over other patients. Lorraine was forced to keep them behind the table away from her. It felt like she was holding them hostage, but she had no choice.

In the midst of this uneasy standoff, a growling whimper came from outside. Everyone hushed to listen. They heard it again. Warily, Dr. Lorraine approached to investigate. An enraged screaming-snarl froze everyone's blood. Then a bewildering voice cracked, sounding similar to but worse than a Tasmanian Devil. The doctor crept closer. Something banged against the door and clawed. Then ceased. She put her ear against the portal and listened. Whatever was outside grunted and gulped. It growled, simpered and made ripping, cracking noises.

_ It's eating the corpse!_

Behind her, Nancy whispered to Tom and Ernest. "You two distract her, and I'll dispel this evil from the living world."

With relish, Tom shouted, "You fucker! I'll kill you for this!" His fist slammed into Ernest's face. Ernest hit back; then they grappled throwing close punches, a fake fight but with real rage.

"Stop! No!" Dr. Lorraine rushed around the table to break them up. Other patients shouted and joined them. As she got close, a girl attempted to pick the gun off her. The doctor struggled, and finally drew it.

Meanwhile, Nancy moved to the door unnoticed. She planned to dispel the devil out there as she had werewolves. Of course it couldn't stand against God's gaze, her gaze.

Dr. Lorraine had just regained control, when a glimpse back jolted her heart with terror. She rushed, but knew she wouldn't make it. "Nancy, no!" She raised the pistol. "Step away!"

But the psychotic girl didn't obey. The lock clicked. As last resort, the doctor fired.

The bullet missed. By that time, Nancy had already turned the latch.

* * *

Laura attacked Kyle like a lightning strike. She reached into his chest; he burst into flames. The other three recoiled from the heat blast. Kyle screamed. The flash blinded Lewis and Frank who had to strip off the goggles. The ghost vaporized. Kyle ran and staggered randomly. Smoke and stench choked his companions. They had no choice but to stay away.

The werewolves didn't know Laura could do that. Her attack surprised them, too, and the smoke blinded and choked them as much as the men.

The keening stopped,

The male jumped from a catwalk on Arthur. At impact, the creature tore his ribcage apart and wrenched his head off. Blood and gore flew on the remaining two men. The momentum carried the beast between them into the wall. The female rushed Frank, but she over-accelerated and slid on the bare floor. He fired. She dropped to her belly and rolled, reversed, then jumped. Dazzled, blinded and choking, Frank shot nine times and couldn't hit her, but he forced her to retreat through the doorway. This gave her mate time to recover.

The ghosts watched and cheered in glee as though the life or death battle were a hockey game. Kyle stopped screaming. He fell close to Lewis and continued to burn.

Lewis had a point-blank shot at the huge werewolf, but couldn't fire. His hands shook, and his fingers numbed. Blue-Eyes ignored him and went after Frank. Lewis stabbed at it with the broomstick-needle he held. The creature dodged. Meanwhile, Frank pivoted and stuck it in the neck with his. The needle popped. The male swiped it out of his hand.

The female rushed into the doorway behind, but Lewis saw her, and poked at her with his spear.

Frank fired three times. The male bellowed in pain, as its mate dodged. She bit through the shaft and, tossing her head, flung the injector away. Unseen by the men, it came to rest at Ginger's feet. Lewis finally managed to fire a few wild shots and Red-Eyes retreated.

In the midst of this chaos, Annabelle crashed the party. Lewis glimpsed at the twisted, evil version of a child. The room broke into pandemonium. In seconds, the spirits scattered, save one, who couldn't flee, but the predator-spirit had pursued another.

The confusion lifted; the smoke abated. The huge werewolf knocked Frank flying with its fore paw, but the creature moved slower. Lewis stuck in the flank. The injector popped.

Blue-Eyes roared jumped straight up six feet. Lewis expected it to attack him. He was defenseless.

Red-Eyes attempted another assault on Frank who was prone. He rolled to his side and fired a volley, forcing her to evade and retreat yet again.

The male landed facing Lewis and turned. For a moment, Lewis thought it attempted to dodge shots, run them out of ammunition. Frank rolled and shot at it.

It kept spinning. Lewis' head jutted forward in surprised when he realized what it was doing. _He's chasing his tail!_

He extended his arm toward Frank. "Hold fire. Watch for Brigitte."

The bear-sized male continued to whirl, picking up speed, yelping like a puppy having a nightmare.

Lewis stopped gawking and picked up the shotgun, handing it to his partner.

As it accelerated, the men backed away. Then it stiffened, its claws slid, and it collapsed in a seizure.

"Don't look," Lewis said. But Frank was glancing at it nonetheless.

Bones began to pop. Fur wilted away. Lewis knew what to expect, only now on a larger scale. He averted his eyes and wished he wore a raincoat and could cover his ears.

* * *

The monster heard Nancy and was prepared to strike. When she cracked the door, the creature's lunge sent her flying. The momentum smashed her head off the table edge, killing her. The creature ripped away, enraged and starving. Her blood gushed. It whirled to face the others. Lights flickered.

Everyone was terror-struck. It tore out a lock of hair out of the way, revealing hateful, inhuman eyes. It sported thin fur and dead tissue, protruding from huge, disfiguring scars. The posture was humanly impossible, low and splayed in a tripod. It flourished claws; hyper-extended its back upward like preying mantis. The mouth drooled bloody ichor in two long strands. The voice was simultaneously of an enraged, tormenting demon and the woman it tortured into agony.

To everyone present, it resembled a spider, except the terror of the first glimpse did not subside. And it smelled like Dr. Frankenstein spent his eternal damnation creating it from all the putrid flesh in Hell.

The door slammed shut. Everybody jumped and screamed. Dr. Lorraine raised the gun. She fired twice. One hit its arm, the other missed. The creature pounced. Its impact hurled her to the floor. She screeched. Like a walking chainsaw, it tore her up in seconds.

A girl picked up the gun while a boy, Tom, jumped at the monster. Before he could land, it rolled off the doctor. A backhanded strike crushed his neck with a wet crack. The lights blinked like a strobe. The creature sprung to its feet. The girl froze, her expression went blank. The beast lunged. An errant shot hit Ernest in the back, killing him. Everything went dark. The gun flew out of her reach. Lights came back on as it slashed at her.

A third boy grabbed it from behind. Screaming, roaring, it twisted at the waist, shoulders and neck, chomped down on his shoulder. He cried out as it gyrated its head. When its teeth pulled loose, two inches of his collarbone came out with them. Blood spurted. He fell away in lethal shock.

Meanwhile, the wounded girl grabbed the syringe lying nearby. With its arm wounded, the creature couldn't block. She stuck needle in its ear and tapped the plunger as the rabid beast broke her neck.

A drop of silver ions entered the creature's skull. It stiffened, screamed, bent far backward, its body knotted, and it keeled over. The muscles released, and it flailed explosively three feet off the floor. The convulsions continued, pounding the dead and dying underneath.

The door finally opened, and two patients fled. One girl had fainted in the corner, and another patient, Roy, sat cowered against the wall. He cringed as the horrendous seizure continued.

The massacre had taken not even twenty seconds.

The violence finally abated. The shaking went on, and bloody foam boiled from its mouth. Roy picked up the pistol, crawled over, aiming at its head.

The needle still dangled from the left ear. The eyes weren't orange anymore, but were like dark bowls where iridescent, pied glitter swam around in manic confusion.

"June," he whimpered.

He lowered the gun, drew back on his feet and backed away. His knees gave out. Then he raised it again. This time he aimed not at her but straight into his eye.

The shot rang out, and the deserted ward went silent.


	33. Doubling Down

GSTFB-2

Chapter 33

_**A/N (4/4/2012): **My speed is still no great shake, but I think I set a personal record on this one. This chapter puts everything in place for the resolution in Chapter 34. I'm not quite through with proofreading the chapter, but will be in a few days. Those who can forgive slight errors can read now; those who are patient can wait until the weekend.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 33:**

DOUBLING DOWN

"Why isn't it dead yet?" Frank asked.

A reasonable question. The werewolf's change was reaching its horrific climax, and by this point last month, Lewis had begged God to kill Daphne. Its yelps and cries pleaded for mercy. The mid-section had bloated, the bones popped and shrank underneath. The Cuts that formed on its surface increased and widened as blood squirt out. "Stand back, cover– "

Lewis turned away. The carcass exploded, spraying chunks and slime everywhere. Frank didn't heed the warning; he now wiped chud off his face.

Silence settled, until broken by a moan. The shrunken membrane slowly peeled off revealing a red core that shifted slightly and moaned again.

Lewis stepped forward, glancing back at Frank. "Cover me. Watch for Brigitte." He tramped ankle-deep through a slippery steamy mess, and stared down at a person in the center.

A sudden clear discharge from all pores cleaned the redness off and revealed a youth missing from Bailey Downs, human again after two years. Lewis crouched down.

"Jason? Jason McCarty?"

The young man knelt curled up. Lewis waited, but instead of sitting up, McCarty fell over on his side. His breathing sounded loud and labored.

Normal eyes opened, unfocused. "Dad? Can't go to school today. I'm really sick."

"You're not at home."

His body straightened he lifted his head. "Oh? I know. Sorry . . . Dad. I caught something. From Ginger . . . Fitzgerald. Not the clap either. Now Brigitte left me. Wouldn't help." Pale and emaciated, he slumped back down and shivered.

_He's dying._ Lewis decided to play the part to comfort him. "Son . . . It's all right now. You're cured you. You're going to recover. What can I do to make you feel better?"

The youth groped for his hand, his eyes were still. "No, I'm nor. I dream of Hell . . ."

_He remembers. As Daphne did._ "It was all the sickness, Jason. Whatever you remember, you're innocent. You're cured, and God understands. Trust Him now and pray."

"No . . . too wicked. You pray– Dad– save me . . ." He then shouted, grasping Lewis. "Save me!" With a breath Jason fell back, and his brief return to humanity expired. Lewis crossed himself and said a short prayer that Jason's soul wouldn't end up like Laura's. A mournful, enraged howl filled the room, causing Lewis to bolt upright. Frank raised the shotgun and checked the entrances. Another sounded out, angrier and more forlorn than the last.

Even if they couldn't understand the words, both men exchanged glances, confirming to each other that they guessed the meaning: Red-Eyes grieved for her mate and swore vengeance on them.

* * *

Completely submerged, drowning for eternity, June struggled against a claw standing on her throat. It lifted. Floating up through thick liquid back into the world of the living, she surfaced. The dream ended. Awake, she hacked and coughed blood out of her lungs and trachea. She turned herself over, and her windpipe cleared and opened. She inhaled a breath of sweet, unobstructed air. The smells overwhelmed her, telling her she was somehow alive again.

The split second of relief bordered on joy when a stabbing pain hit all over the left side of her head and face. She reached up and carefully pulled something out of her ear. The misery diminished.

June blinked. Sight showed only an impenetrable, dark-red screen, like she had scabs over her eyes. She touched them, and found them intact and uncovered. "Help! I'm blind!" she cried, and discovered, to her horror, she was also deaf.

And acute starvation burned in her. Not a slow-wasting hunger, but a famished white-hot madness. Terror shadowed it and convinced her she would die immediately if she didn't eat. No delusion either, as two transformations had drained her body. Her eyes couldn't even reconstitute without more nourishment.

She smelled food right under her nose and bit into fresh meat. Sweet, life-saving warmth spread down her throat and into her belly. She fed, too starved to wonder what type of flesh she ate.

When the hunger finally relented, her vision and hearing returned. Slowly, the red shield became transparent. She stopped eating, lifted her head. Shapes appeared. Bodies. Corpses. She heard somebody somewhere breathing and moaning. Deaf in one ear, she couldn't place it. She was able to think. _Where am I?_

The memory of Jason's attack came back to sting her like a nest of hornets, right as she perceived someone lying beneath. For a confused second, June thought the person there to be herself. That illusion shattered when tormented eyes met hers. Meat fell from June's mouth; she screamed and stood up.

The girl was paralyzed, neck broken, her forearm arm chewed off and half her abdomen eaten away. June spit twice. "Melanie, I'm . . . sorry?" Her voice deeper now, the words were so inadequate, such an understatement, they came out like a question. June covered her brow.

"Then kill . . . me," Melanie rasped.

"No!" June cried, gazing down again blinking hard. The image wouldn't go away.

Melanie's eyes rolled up. "Please!"

June looked around, realized she could neither help nor find any. She nodded and tried not to smile. With claws now larger, sharper and retractable, June put them on Melanie's throat. "Please believe me, I wish I had never hurt you." She turned away and slashed deep. Just in case, she shifted the Melanie's neck to sever the spine. Keeping her eyes on the ceiling, June stood, backed up, stepping around corpses.

The scent of the bodies, blood and carrion were the exact same tastes in her mouth, and she realized what meat filled her belly. "No!" She grasped her jaw with both hands.

_ Oh my God! I'm a cannibal! _

She shouted, "Captain! What happened to me? What did I do?"

No answer. The radio was dead.

Shattered, she fled the room, screaming and weeping.

* * *

Red-Eye's howled four times. The men stayed silent watching the doors, waiting for her to make a move, but instead she ranted, growling from the surrounding halls; Lewis presumed she was cursing or taunting.

"Why doesn't it attack?" asked Frank.

Lewis breathed hard and coughed in the stinking smoke, and recalled how the beast had taken over and cut off this hospital. "Because she's a sly, cold-blooded bitch. Aren't you Brigitte?" The werewolf howled. "We're up against the worst sort. She bides her time and makes plans." _Just like Daphne. _

The blackened corpse smoldered, its flames faded to embers. The smoke had risen to the high ceiling. Before they were plunged into darkness, Lewis picked up the night-vision goggles and handed a pair to Frank.

Frank scowled. "Why didn't you fire, Lewis?" The tone was both a question and rebuke.

Lewis sighed acrid air and coughed. "An incident last month with an especially vile werewolf: Daphne. Not as bad the one we're facing now, I think." Their eyes were already watered from the smoke, and Lewis sobbed. "Apparently, I haven't been right in the head since."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I can't tell you with her listening."

"You said they can hear us no matter where."

Lewis' voice caught. "Yes."

"So, you're saying you can't tell me at all."

"Gunshots stun their hearing."

A growl sounded from one of the doorways; Frank swung around and fired the shotgun, the explosion shocked their eardrums. He cocked it. "Okay, what's wrong with you."

From a different door, another snarl sounded, while Lewis' arms dangled limply. "When I try to fire, my hands shake and go numb, then I get weak and break into a cold sweat. Sometimes I think I'm watching Daphne die again."

"Oh, the luck! Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Frank said derisively. "Good thing we're in a psych hospital getting you treatment."

"Keep your voice down. Her hearing might recover fast."

The shotgun blasted again. Frank ejected the shell, pivoted and sited the opposite door.

"Careful, she'll run you out and attack while you're reloading."

Frank exaggerated a shrug. "Well, at least be a decoy and look like you can shoot. Why didn't you tell me?"

Obeying, Lewis lifted his gun and pretended to cover the other entrances. "I would've if I had known."

"Bullshit! After doing this for five years, you happen to bring me in now?"

Lewis hacked. "Honestly, I thought I was burned– I have a confession, Frank. I brought you in as my replacement."

"What?" Enraged, Frank aimed at Lewis' head. "You suckered me into this, too?"

His hands raised in front, Lewis backed away, but his voice stayed steady. "No! Please believe me. It seemed a simple, harmless case, find her and give her the cure. I had no clue Brigitte was forced off her treatment and confined here with innocent people. "

"I don't buy that. You lied. Just like you did with these men. I ought to shoot you!"

"I swear, no Frank! How likely was it that she would deteriorate now after handling it for twenty-six months? I didn't expect that, but once I found out, I couldn't make myself abandon her again. She's suffered so much because I underestimated her two years ago and believed she transformed."

Frank inhaled through his teeth as Red-Eyes snorted from the doors. He turned and aimed direction, but nothing showed.

_ She's laughing at us_, thought Lewis.

Frank grimaced. "You've a knack for doing the wrong things for the right reasons."

"Please, don't kill her! Help her," a girl said. The men looked in different directions, for the voice seemed to come from both the air and walls, but didn't echo. "Lewis! I'm here. No, right here. . . . I'm standing right in front of you. Take the fucking stupid goggles off."

The two men did, and Lewis' eyes went wide. An apparition stood eye-to-eye with him, close enough to grapple, its features distinct, despite the dark and smokiness. He recoiled a step, too surprised to aim even if it would do any good. Its gaze pleaded with him. Speechless, he coughed to restart his stunned voice. "Ginger Fitzgerald."

"You know me? Gone but not forgotten, I guess. I'm a ghost, now, condemned to haunt that werewolf." Ginger pointed. The men saw nothing in the dark.

"Your sister . . ." said Lewis.

Frank turned lowered the gun in amazement. "You're dead?" Her human appearance contrasted with the other ghoulish spirits they'd seen.

Red-Eyes broke cover.

"A trap!" Frank spun aiming the shotgun.

"No!" Ginger cried lifting her hand toward the beast.

Frank having turned quickly enough, the creature aborted the attack. Frank didn't have the goggles on, and with only two shells left, he held fired. In a colorful streak, Ginger moved to face him, her figure clear despite the dark and smoke. With hands spread at her sides, she beseeched them. "No, cure her. You cured Jason. My sister deserves it."

Lewis read sincere desperation in her. "He died."

Ginger rolled her eyes. "Well, yeah, you shot him first."

"She's killed over twenty people," said Frank, "but I guess mass murder doesn't faze you."

Ginger sidestepped his shotgun and stepped forward. "No, you're wrong. This creature isn't her at all. Brigitte fought _her_ back for two years."

Red-Eyes roared. Only Ginger understood her saying, "Enough!" The werewolf retreated deep into the hallways to make her plans, and Ginger, as though tethered, was yanked away with her.

"Cure–!" The spirit's voice cut off as she streaked backward through the wall.

Lewis shook his head and said, "Unbelievable."

Frank stifled a laugh. "You've been fighting werewolves for four or five years. How do you think I feel?"

"Well, now you know everything about this case I do. You're in charge, Frank, and I'm just your adviser. What do we do?"

As Frank's eyes moved side-to-side, the last of the light from Kyle's corpse died. "From you've said, she's only going getting stronger while we get tired. We go back to the ward, rest and make a plan.

He put the goggles on.

* * *

June knelt and leaned forward in the shower. Cold water sprayed on her back, but she didn't shiver. Wiggling three fingers in her esophagus, she dry heaved. Her stomach seized, holding on to the digesting human flesh like a predator guarding its kill.

A toothbrush lay on the floor, and she rushed out, grabbed and jammed it deep into her throat. The bristles chafed, inducing stronger gags, but nothing came up. Repeated thrusts doubled her over as she staggered to the toilet, retching until she turned blue. Still her body refused to relinquish its quarry. She didn't stop until her abdomen and neck muscles burned and she was ready to pass out. When she breathed again, she spit her own blood from her chafed throat; her gut gave up nothing. She wept. The werewolf had won.

_Cannibal!_ _Murderer!_

June felt her remaining ties to humanity severed. The Corporal and the Captain won't talk to her now. She was subhuman and alone. _I've eaten human flesh. No going back. _

Her grief converted to rage. She ripped the seat off and shattered it against the stall, which she kicked, knocking the partition flying. The door flew off next with a blow from the side of her fist. She tore the rest down with her bare feet and hands. Plaster fell from the ceiling. A backhanded swing sent the toilet pipe flying. Cold water flowed out freely.

As June turned, a mutilated chimera peered back at her. She hackled up and growled as her reflection did the same. Half of her golden-brown hair was torn out. Russet and white strands already grew in its place. Her beleaguered eyes were still human, but little else.

Three blinding punches smashed the image. Shards flew all over her. The poltergeist awakened suddenly, warping the other two mirrors, mocking her. Those reflections distorted, looking even more monstrous, scaring her. She backed away. The glass exploded.

June didn't care now. Broken as the fragments underfoot, she sank against the wall until she sat slumped. "Why? I just wanted to help. I obeyed! I followed orders . . ."

_Her sister Angie stood in front of her, looking appalled. "Um, I think you've hit bottom."_

Lips peeled back from June's now formidable fangs. She bristled.

_Angie forced a smile and shrugged. "You can only go up from here, sis."_

"Ditsy bitch!" June yanked the sink loose and threw it at her.

* * *

Lewis found Dr. Lorraine's body. Her death had, at least, been swift. The massacre scene in the breached room shook Lewis more than the other two because these people had been his responsibility. Now he knelt over a girl's body.

Frank stood above him, gesturing in frustration. "What variety. Gunshots, blunt trauma, bites and lacerations," he pointed to the one beneath Lewis, "but not a mark on her. How did she die?"

"Traumatic shock."

Frank stared askance at him. "She died of fear?"

Lewis stood. "Yes. I'm not a forensic doctor, but I worked closely with a superb one. I've seen this before."

A knocking in the hall made them jump. "What's that?" Frank whispered. Lewis shrugged and took his partner's cue to investigate.

Outside, they heard liquid flowing like a brook. Rounding a corner, they saw water running out of a bathroom. They crept toward it, weapons ready, and witnessed the demolition inside.

"Great, there's a mad plumber here too," Frank said.

The joke didn't draw even a smile from Lewis. "An _intermediate_ did this."

A scraping sound came from behind them. Lewis turned his head in time to glance at a barely-open door shutting. He tapped Frank on the shoulder and pointed. They sneaked over.

As Frank positioned himself in front with the shotgun, Lewis reached toward the knob. The door thrust open, smacking him. He fell away. His partner fired, but the small creature ran low like a weasel. Once under the barrel, it sprung slamming Frank into the wall. The beast snatched his gun and aimed at Lewis. Frank lay stunned.

Now the weird chimera wavered, giving Lewis had time to observe closely. Even for an _intermediate_, something was terribly wrong about it. Far too transformed for a recent infection, it wore a long, blue t-shirt and two skull necklaces. Female, she growled and sniffed at him with her fangs bared like a Doberman. Frank's shot had grazed her legs and flank. She bled but showed no pain, and she had scars.

Lewis avoided eye contact. Her claws and teeth over-matched him even if the gun wasn't cocked. "You're June Collier."

She jumped. Now he met her eyes. Still human, they flashed terror and grief. He added, "You _don't_ wish to kill me, do you?"

June snarled, tossed the shotgun down the hall and fled the opposite way. He wanted to call to her, wished he could say they would help her, but couldn't make himself tell that lie. He picked up his Walther.

Frank got to his knees and shook his head. "That was a girl? How did you recognize her?"

"I didn't. I had nothing to lose, so I took a wild guess." Lewis tried to help him up, but Frank waved him off. They walked to retrieve the shotgun.

"That little mouse gave me an NHL check. You were right about their strength. At least we know who killed the patients."

"She's as much a victim as any here. More unfortunate, too."  
Frank rolled his eyes. "We can't feel sorry for the abused when they grow up to abuse."

Lewis sighed, nodded. "You're right. What's our next move?"

"Tell me what Brigitte's going to do. Will she run?"

"After we killed her mate? No, she's setting another trap."

Frank rearmed and reloaded. "Good. Nothing to guard; nothing to defend; nothing to lose." He cocked the gun and grinned. "Let's test the bitch out."

* * *

June stopped running and held still in the darkened hall. She regretted sparing them. She almost begged them for help but no longer trusted humans.

_ How did he know my name? _His detailed knowledge terrified her.

She rubbed her hand-paws next to each ear. The left was totally deaf. She still could hear on the right side, but she believed it must be damaged as well. Those men would've never surprised her otherwise.

They had caught her dressing. Impervious to cold and with no human modesty left, she still needed the shirt to hide the disfiguring scars from herself. The mere sight of them inflicted trauma.

Brigitte's scent dominated these halls. How June longed to be with her pack-sister now, but Jason would be with her. The memory of his claws and teeth doubled June over with physical pain. The feel of his incisors in her head caused her knees to buckle.

Brigitte had chosen him over her, and Four Point was their territory, not hers. She must leave or risk Jason's fangs again.

Gunshots behind her made her jump. She bolted. _They're after me! _

She sped through the hall, rounded a corner and spotted three soldiers up ahead wearing white winter fatigues. They entered the building from a door ten meters away, and didn't see her. Surrounded, she ducked into a doorway. They spoke, but she couldn't understand them.

She froze, afraid that the men pursuing her would catch up. The soldiers ahead went the opposite direction. She pursued.

As she closed, a new part of her mind awakened. In a snap, she had a plan. She pounced on the rearguard. A forearm around his throat, he fell backward. Hitting the floor, his neck snapped on her shoulder. With his sub-machine gun, she fired a burst into the face of the second soldier. Kevlar protected the last one against her sustained fire, but he stumbled back. The clip emptied, she lunged. A large man, the momentum only staggered him. He lowered his head, impeding her with his helmet. Her legs locked around him. He tried to grapple as her fangs ripped his hands. Together they flailed and danced.

Her strength prevailed and a snap from his upper spine signaled the end. She landed straddling him and released his face from her jaws. The limp body fell from between her thighs.

A glance behind told her nobody followed. The lack of scents confirmed this. She concluded her damaged hearing deceived her again. The shots came from these soldiers entering. Relieved, she gave into rage and tore deep into her prey.

As the feeding frenzy took her, military radios babbled, the language strange, the tones all questions and exclamations.

* * *

Wade and Ben lay on a ridge. They both carried weapons and gear. Wade carried a remarkably tall rifle. The snow had lightened but was expected to pick up again in a few hours. They looked down at Four Point through infrared binoculars. Soldiers surrounded the compound.

Wade unclenched his jaw. "About three platoons, a hundred to a hundred fifty mercenaries. No heavy weapons, so far, but what's the cargo they're unloading?" He turned to Ben. "This is a recovery crew."

"What can we do against a whole military company?"

Wade shrugged. "Simo Hayha alone killed seven hundred Soviet soldiers in the Winter War."

"Is that why you brought the dinosaur rifle?" said Ben, pointing Wade's gun. "He was a sniper, in the Finnish military and didn't do a rescue operation."

"We'll continue to harbor the advantage of surprise until they bring Lewis out, then we strike."

Ben grimaced. "We can't even observe the entire building."

"Sometimes you must trust your luck."

"Or know when to fold."

"You're not talking about abandoning Lewis, are you?"

"No," Ben wiped the snow out of his eyes. He looked tired. "We're already doubled-down."

"I don't need you getting us killed. Are you in this one hundred percent or not?"

"Yes," Ben straightened his shoulders, "The house titlle's already in the pot."

* * *

Red-Eyes arranged her lures and kept tabs on the men inside, who she had diverted deep into the basement. Gazing outside the new intruders, she sniffed, her ears moved with the noises. The soldiers' winter fatigues and equipment told her they weren't with the detectives, who hadn't been looking out as though they expected rescue anytime soon. These humans were doing their best to be stealthy, and were failing badly according to her smell and hearing. Men's senses being dimmer, she doubted her enemies perceived them yet. _Who are they?_

_Maybe Gadepalli wasn't lying? If so, they want me. _These new humans surrounded her territory, but they were holding their distance. Soon, though, they will come in.

No matter, they didn't scare her. She'd slip through, or fight her way out. The murderers of her mate will die before she retreated. Her trap already being baited, she had only one more piece to put in place. She rushed from the window back deep into the halls. The men were already finding her clues, so she had to rush.

* * *

June's feast was interrupted by a female voice, sounding equally clear in both ears. "June?"

June spit the flesh out of her mouth and on all fours backed away from the red-haired apparition. She grasped the skulls. "You! Don't you hurt me again, and don't fool with my head."

The commands shook Ginger. She gaped, stunned, hand twisting her red hair. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, let's see," June rolled her eyes up and and stroked her chin in mockery. "I've been thrown, slammed, abducted, infected, imprisoned, poisoned, cracked, possessed, terrorized, enslaved, humiliated, shamed, beaten, stuck, clawed, tortured, disjointed, dehumanized, scorned, betrayed, abandoned, raped, mauled, mutilated, drowned, killed and then resurrected as a cannibal." She took a breath. "Plus, I'm on my period a week early."

Ginger squinted. "There _is_ a cloud over you."

"Yes, meet my poltergeist. You remember him? Say, hello, Basil." A corpse shifted and moaned. June's kick ruptured its and sent the whole body spinning across the floor. "Shut up!" She turned back to the ghost. "I'm having a really bad day, and you've reminded me it's not even over."

"Um, I'm sorry for the hassle . . ."

June growled. "Sorry? For the suffering you two have brought? A word doesn't even start, but you can work it out freezing in Hell as far as I'm concerned." June stormed away, but noticed the ghost glided next to her.

Ginger sputtered. "I guess– too bad– I mean, you've done so much for us."

"Not what you said last time we talked!" June rubbed and rotated her shoulder, which popped. "Thanks for that _sting_."

"I shouldn't have done that. You were only trying to help other people like you always do."

The werewolf swiped her claw through the air. "Quit! I know what kind of thing you are now, Ginger. You don't give a shit for anything living."

Ginger flinched. "Not true. I care about you."

"Then why didn't you warn me Brigitte might want to share the Curse?"

"What? I couldn't even remember."

The lie was so transparent, June roared in rage. "Don't try to trick somebody who understands the urge now!"

The ghost shook her head, tossing her hair about. "That's the truth. I don't recall offering it to her."

A single, sickle shaped claw squeezed out of June's forefinger as she pointed. "You mean half truth. Those are always the best lies. You've confirmed it, again, so she must've told you."

The apparition hissed as though sighing through her teeth. Her posture sank. "Yes, she did. I'm sorry. Yeah, I put you at risk, but I fucking swear I thought she would be better than I was. I never believed she'd infect you."

June snarled askance and glared.

Ginger continued, "Look, please believe me and forgive. I lost my temper before. I'm really grateful for your help. It hasn't worked out, yet, but you've done more than I could ask."

"Only because I didn't know I had anything left to lose!" Tears squeezed from June's eyes. "Boy, was I wrong!" Her face pinched around her exposed fangs, an expression contempt. "I can tell you're here to beg me for something, so drop the butter-treatment already."

"No, this time I'm here to help you."

"Bullshit! The only thing your cold, dead ass still cares about is _her, _and she and I are finished. She chose Jason over me, and I'm not welcome. Oh, he made that clear." Eyes closed, June held her shoulders, growling and moaning.

"That wasn't my sister. Brigitte hated him, but she's not Brigitte anymore. Not in the least. I've talked to . . . it."

June popped upright. "I'm rogue now, and all the Eternal armies of the Alliance won't help me because of you. Goodbye, Ginger."

The half-werewolf stepped toward the door leading out into sheer winter, but Ginger streaked over blocking her. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving." June grasped the skulls. "Ginger, Go a–"

"No! Don't dispel me! You can't leave now."

June tried to wave her hand through; the spirit whirled aside and spoke loud and clear into June's deaf left ear. "June, listen, if you go out there, _you_ are a goner."

June sneered and chortled, but _Déjà vu_ made her body fur twitch. "How? Cold doesn't affect me. I can hunt for my food . . ."

"Not like that. Once you're completely cut off and alone the Curse will devour your mind."

June mocked her. "Is that all? Then the quicker, the better." She took another step.

"No! The Disease is tricking you the way it did Bee. In the end, you don't change. You die. No bullshit. This I know now."

"What do you care about my death? You're dead."

"And it sucks! It's not what anybody would want." She stepped back between June and the door. "The Curse will torture you, mentally, physically, until you are gone. You've only had a sample."

"You're lying, again."

Ginger got down on her knees. "Please don't leave. The men brought a cure . . ."

"Oh, don't tease me, you fucking ghoul! You can't fix this!" She strode forward, bearing down on Ginger, who was forced to move aside but remained kneeling.

The door opened. The ghost cried out. "_You will not survive!_"

June began sarcastically. "You'd tell me anyth– Wait! What did you say?"

"You will not survive!"

The words set off an echo in June's memory, like dominoes cascading. She gazed at the spirit in awe, who now looked like Cassie.

"_. . . you will not survive,_" Cassie had said.

The Corporal's voice came back to her, "_She'll deliver the message to you. . . . When you hear it, you must remember your oath and purpose."_

June closed the door, put a paw on her temple.

"June . . . ?" said Ginger.

"Shhh!" She waved the ghost quiet. The static cleared. A vivid memory played over the radio, singing in her voice her forgotten invocation that brought Ginger back:

_"With my blood, I join the bond._

_ With my blood, I mend the bond,__  
The bond one will can never break  
With my will the bond be strengthened  
Stronger than the hold of death."_

No spirit had mouthed those particular words for June. They came from her heart. Her passion, once obscured by psychosis, now clarified them, about Brigitte, who had fought the Curse alone for two years. Resolve so powerful made Brigitte worth the effort. June most desired that Brigitte be free. The purpose of this whole ordeal was now illuminated, and was not some universal, eternal war, but something personal.

_ Angie_ had been right. Delusions had magnified June's sense of self-importance while hiding what was important. From the first, the bond between the sisters attracted her. Cut off from companions and family, she needed to belong somewhere. With Ginger and Brigitte, she saw fulfillment, but only if she could only solve their problem. Moreover, she yearned for redemption. The trials she went through so far were inadequate.

June's lips closed over her fangs. Her eyes softened. Ginger's words had brought insight. June now regarded her as the last agent of the broken Alliance, in deep cover, who would next lead her to final atonement and initiation. "All right. I'll help you."

Ginger got up in one snap-shutter motion, ephemeral tears evaporated from her eyes. "Thank you!"

"What do we do?"

"The men aren't going to save her, but they brought a cure. I'll show you where they left it."

* * *

[END CHAPTER]

* * *

_** A/N (4/4/2012):** I thank all of you for your patience while I've learned my craft. I hope it's been worth sticking with. The next chapter (34) will resolve the major conflict. Chapter 35 will tie up lose ends. Then, there's an epilogue, which has few surprises._

_ I know I said it would go 34 chapters with an epilogue, but I haven't made the story longer, I've simply made the chapters smaller and ended them in logical places._

_ I'm encouraged by my better speed, and hope to have 34 up even faster._

19


	34. Riding a Wolf

GFTFB-2

Chapter 34

_**A/N 7/8/12:** I worked hard on this chapter, it was not easy to write, not easy to edit. There's a lot of action, a lot of scenes, and switching back and forth between theaters of action. I brought all skills I've been learning to bear in creating it. _

_ I don't think it will disappoint anyone who's kept up with the story. It resolves eighty percent of the conflict. The next chapter, which will be shorter by half and simpler, and will resolve the rest and end the story. Then there will be an epilogue, that should also be half the length of this chapter._

_ Please, if it's not too much, review it and tell me what you think._

_**A/N 7/15/12:** I've corrected a few proofreading and clarity errors in the final scene. Yes, apparently, I still have to get those fixed in the first two-thirds._

* * *

**Chapter 34:**

RIDING A WOLF

Trapped against the ceiling, blacked out, Shay was roused by someone calling her name.

She yelled, "Hello?"Only her echo answered. Plaster fell when she shifted to look, reminding her of the structure's weakness. "Who's there? Help! I'm up here."

Nothing. Shay guessed. "Helen?" Had she seen her undead? Everything had become so weird, she couldn't tell if she hallucinated that.

_"Shay!" _The voice's familiarity, minus any recognition, teased her.

"Yes? Who are you?"

_"Pay attention!"_

Instead of words, a cascade of vivid memories inundated her.

_Drunken satisfaction swept through Shay as her fist broke Felicia's nose. The rest of the girls __stood back; none were as big or vicious. A blow split Felicia's lip but her teeth fractured Shay's knuckles. The next punch crushed the helpless girl's cheekbone, along with her assailant's other hand. Shay managed a few more blows before pain stopped her. Pity, she would've gouged the bitch's eyes out next. Shay settled for kicking her ribs until adults arrived. At least Felicia wasn't pretty anymore. Now he won't want her._

_ Later, she proudly showed Matt her casts. _

_ "You psycho." He turned away. _

_ Shay was stunned because he was no pacifist. Surely, this proved her love over Felicia's. "Don't you see? I'd do anything for you." _

_ "Yeah. For five minutes. Then you'll strangle me."_

_ She ran after him."Please, I can't live without you." _

_ "Stupid bitch. I left you weeks ago. It didn't kill you. So fuck off and die already." He opened his car door._

_ Shay wept. "I went to detention for you! You can't just screw me and leave."_

_ "Everybody does."_

_ The casts prevented her from grabbing him through the window. Now she could only blubber and plead. "Yes, but they didn't matter!" She jammed her toe kicking his sedan. He left her lying in the mud, hugging her foot with her elbows._

_ Unable to slash her wrists, she swallowed acetaminophen and vodka that night. _

A new emotion overwhelmed her: guilt. "Stop!" Instead, the visions came faster.

_ "Will Dad ever visit again, Mom. . . ?" "Everyone else ran. Your daughter was passed out inside. . . ." "I'm pregnant, Mom. . . ." "No! I killed my baby. . . !" ". . . killed your baby you son of a bitch. . . ." "She has missed forty-five days and when she's here she disrupts class. . . ." "Shannon, that's the fifth time you've attempted suicide this year. . . ." _

And so they continued. These moments did more for Shay than months of psychiatric care. "Stop!" It did. Perspiration flowed down her forehead and dripped from her eyebrows. She wiped it away with a dirty hand.

After attempting suicide, fearing werewolves made her feel silly. She craned her neck to study the trap she was in. No way to climb down, but she would die after pissing herself if she stayed. Escape was worth the risk of falling into the heap below. She shook the bracket next to her head and kicked the one at her feet. _I fought off moon-hounds, twice. I can escape._

Dust crumbled out until the duct-work gave. Rivets popped, the seam under her waist split. She gripped the tie, which pulled out of the joist. She didn't plunge, but swung. The ducts ahead stripped off the ceiling, anchor by anchor. She broke her fall clear of the toppled heap. The venting buried her in a thunder of sheet metal, rust and grime.

She pushed the wreckage off, surprised to be alive. "Wicked!"

_Did I plan this?_ No way. Her confidence in her luck soared.

She checked herself. Only wounds inflicted by the werewolves had healed. Her once-crippling knee injury was gone, apparently due to the bite scar on top. Her dozens of other cuts and bruises weren't debilitating.

She stood. "Hello? Anybody there?"

Still no answer.

Her vivid, though almost colorless, night vision scoured the room. Nobody else was here. Maybe she imagined the voice? Hardly shocking in this place. She walked and peeked out the door. The hall also proved vacant.

She left with a plan. First, she'd find June. Never would she abandon her friend as the others did. After that, she'd get revenge on Brigitte, somehow.

* * *

Like a hound, June crouched, sniffing Jason's body.

_Ginger's right! This is him!_

Smelling was believing. The cure did bring him completely back. The odor told her many other things. It smelled of acid and carrion, but more, of something teeming within. She touched him and recoiled from the heat. Microbe or supernatural, the Curse was still in him. It hastily destroyed evidence of Jason McCarty's very existence.

Awed, June shuddered. The affliction hid itself _at every stage_. Once bitten, wounds closed in minutes, and you were coerced into secrecy. As the changes became conspicuous, you absconded and withdrew from humanity. After death, the disease both ate its tale and told none. Any sane person would be reluctant to admit you ever existed.

_Something created this!_

Unhinged, June again believed the Eternal War, the Enemy and her mission were all real. She giggled, low and punctuated with growls.

Ginger, arriving from nowhere, crouched beside her. "What's wrong?"

Before June answered, Jason's mouth opened. His jaw disjointed and he laughed in mockery. She stood up and turned away, ignoring the poltergeist's mischief. The tongue ruptured with a caustic, stinking yellow pus, which hissed on the floor. Nothing frightened June anymore.

Except one creature lurking in these halls, and in the back of her mind.

Ginger beckoned. "Please, June, hurry! Over here." In the hallway, the spirit pointed to an object in the corner. "There."

June picked up the auto-injector duct taped to a broken broomstick. The splintered wood had Brigitte's scent. June's claw sliced the tape, and she studied the almost-opaque device. Popping the cap off revealed a plunger where the needle emerged.

Ginger wrung her hands, peering at her. The spirit had no way to prevent June from taking the cure herself. June pointed it toward her thigh with that exact temptation. She wished someone would whisper or appear with orders, but nobody did. Of course not, because headquarters were overrun and the council dispersed. Sacred animals were terrified of her.

_"You will not survive." _

She met Ginger's gaze. This Eternal must in actuality be the undercover agent sent to guide her.

June nodded. "The mission is most important."

"Huh?"

June replaced the cap and put the injector in her borrowed coat. "Let's find her."

Ginger's body mimicked a sigh of relief, but with no sound of breath. "Thank you!" She pointed into the wall. "That way."

* * *

The men went room-to-room along the vacant halls. They both had headlamps and flashlights. Frank had one taped to his shotgun.

She left three corpses in their path. Each indicating what direction to turn. The same hostage game as before. She could kill survivors at will and had limitless energy. Meanwhile, they grew tired and hadn't found anyone alive. Obviously, they headed for a trap, but again, one too well-baited to avoid.

_She _is_ worse than Daphne. _

At least they hadn't confronted any more spirits. He preferred fighting werewolves, and wondered if ghosts were connected to dark matter as well. How might Hiram and Thomas react to this discovery?

Lewis roused himself to the present. Fatigue made his mind wander. Nothing in this room. "Clear!"

Frank signaled. They exited to the hallway. "Why would she want vengeance for him anyway? Didn't they just meet tonight? Wasn't he a one-night stand?"

They edged down the corridor, eschewing stealth. She'd hear them at any volume. Talk released their tension and gave them a chance to taunt her.

"Actually, it's more like we killed him on their wedding night. You've seen _Kill Bill_?"

"No, I never _dug_ Tarantino."

Lewis shrugged. "Everyone has an opinion."

Thirty silent seconds later, Lewis connected his inadvertent reference. He feared he hexed Frank, a sign the supernatural was making him superstitious. Not healthy.

Frank halted, his voice strained. "No! Another one."

Lewis sighted the corpse in Frank's beam. They approached. He examined the body while Frank kept watch.

She lay across their path at a T in the hall, positioned straight and on her back. Her arms slightly apart at her sides, like an arrow telling them to turn left. This one was a girl about fourteen, wearing only a hospital gown.

_ She must have been freezing in here._ Lewis knelt.

Blood was smeared across the floor but hadn't pooled. The victim was moved after death, exactly as the others. A single throat wound attested to a quick kill. He took solace she wasn't tortured. Brigitte was all-business now, taking their pursuit seriously.

Lewis sighed. "How many kids were on the hospital registry?"

"I don't remember. Fifty or sixty. Why?"

"I think she must be running out of patients."

Frank's rolled his eyes. Lewis bolted upright. "Didn't mean that."

His friend's expression and voice stayed deadpan. "Good work. If she's listening, she really wants you dead."

* * *

Shay sneaked to the intersection, trying to get used to her sight. She froze. Some unconscious warning made her back tingle, but too late. From behind, the werewolf landed high on her tender shoulders. The girl fell face down, screaming, a claw on her neck. The beast snarled in her ear. _"You're dead now, Shay!" _

It lied. A sweet-musty scent soaked her with pleasant warmth. The assailant released her and sat aside. _"Just joking!" _Thedistorted voice sounded like speech in one ear, only growls in the other, confusing Shay.

_It can't really be talking._

The pain in her shoulder diminished. Shay turned on her side, mind spinning, eyes blurred. She recalled this aroma in previous encounters, but lacking this power. The werewolf sat on its haunches, licking its paw like a feline. No longer hostile or loathsome, the creature was her soul mate. Shay scooted against the wall trying to clear her thoughts.

The friendly, red eyes beheld her. "_All is forgiven, darling."_

Shay understood the suggestion. She nodded and smiled earnestly. "Yes, I forgive you, Brigitte!"

The beast laughed. _"I'm not Brigitte, but _from_ Brigitte. Her daughter. If you have to call me by anything make it . . . Geldra. We're a pack now. Right?"_ She held up a beastly paw by bending a human elbow._"Together forever?"_

Tears of gratitude erupted from Shay, even while she knew something was wrong. "Yes, together forever!"

She clasped the claw, which shut like a bear trap and stuck her. Shay yelped. Geldra released the pressure, grabbed her wrist and licked the wounds until they closed. The hot tongue then bathed Shay's face. The girl snuggled in the aroma of eternal, unconditional love.

"_Welcome sister! You belong to the pack." _

Shay reeled. New emotions of blood lust gushed within her, sweet and enticing. Her suspicions were clouded, thoughts of June forgotten. Geldra was her best friend and older sister.

The werewolf showed its teeth. _"You must prove you're deserving." _

Shay nodded. She was faithless to have ever hated this beautiful creature.

Geldra's ears turned. "Oh, our enemies are moving fast. They're almost in place." She stood and tossed her head directing Shay to follow. "Hurry."

Shay went with her. She would do anything for her sister. Even drink blood.

* * *

The cadaverous markers brought the men to a door at the end of a hallway. Frank kicked it open, shotgun ready. Inside the large, empty room, four patients huddled, each looking terrified or insane. They gasped, recoiling from the rescuers.

"Finally, survivors," whispered Lewis.

Frank's face was cold. "Bait."

"That too." Lewis called, "We're here to rescue you."

The teens stared back seeming to not understand. If they didn't blink, they would pass for statues.

_They're already mental patients, they may never recover. _

Lewis steadied his hand, kept his finger off the trigger. "Cover me."

"Watch for ghosts."

A futile suggestion. They had no defense against them. He approached the youths, two males and two females. The whites of their wide eyes looked shiny and bloodshot in his light.

He decided to be straightforward. "Where is she?"

None of them answered.

* * *

Everywhere in this section, June smelled her. Brigitte's name might as well be spray-painted on every surface. The odor of fresh kill was also heavy. June felt like a trespasser and snorted ammonia before she fell under Brigitte's sway or gave in to hunger. She stopped. The noxious liquid choked her.

Ahead, Ginger halted, her posture tense. She turned and pointed behind, fascinated. "Look!"

June whirled. Three wraiths stood leering. Once human ghosts, the insane spirits' eyes were chasms. They gaped like panting dogs with lolling, obsidian tentacles instead of tongues.

June bristled, grabbed the skulls, "Shoo!" They screamed as though on fire, fleeing in a split second. "And don't come back." Only a whisper, the command's power caused Ginger's form to ripple. The ghost crossed her arms, perhaps to hold herself together. June shrugged. "I guess they're even more attracted to me now."

Ginger nodded. "Yes, _we_ are. The Curse, those skulls– and you."

"I'm still so lucky."

The spirit gestured silence. "We're close. I know it. She's this way."

Further down, they rounded a corner. June growled and bristled with anger. "Oh, shit! Ginger!" The phantom dodged her frustrated swipe.

The hall came to a dead end, blocked by an old reconstruction.

* * *

The teens didn't hide their bite scars, to Lewis' astonishment. Perhaps too exhausted.

On one knee resting, Frank called him back over. "Two sleepers, then?"

Lewis softened his voice and gestured for his ally to do so. "Possibly. At this point, they can comprehend the anthro-canine dialect, but dominance is unreliable."

"'Anthro-canine dialect'? Really? Sounds like another theory; too many have been wrong."

"We can't just execute or desert them. They're innocent."

"So's Brigitte. So was Jason."

"But we can cure– "

"No, you're right. Let's presume innocence. We'll bring them to the ward and guard them until help arrives."

"That's precisely what she's planning. Why not keep them here?"

"Our flashlight batteries will die, and look at their clothes. They're not dressed for this cold. Rescue parties might not search this wing for days."

"Think Frank. She's going to use these four as a diversion."

"I'm thinking, and I say we take up her dare."

"She may put them in the crossfire– "

Frank stood. "Now you think, Lewis. What if she slips through our fingers? You had to chase Daphne across the continent and back. How many children did she kill? You're retiring, so who'll have to hunt Brigitte down for years? Me! No, we're not doing that. We finish this tonight, on her terms if we have to."

With a shake of his head, Lewis showed opposition, but Frank's stare was hard. Lewis couldn't answer his partner's reasoning. Disability in combat diminished his influence over Frank. Though Lewis knew this was a bad plan, he was now subordinate.

* * *

June stormed up and pounded on the wall. Despite her strength, the obstruction was like concrete.

Nonplussed, Ginger pointed. "I'm still right. She's that way."

"Yeah, with that in between! Maybe you've forgotten solid walls make a difference to the living? "

"Okay. We'll go aro–" Ginger broke off. Her eyes went wide. June dropped on all fours and whirled to follow her gaze.

_Annabelle!_ June's hackles raised. The only creature that still terrified her stood within touching distance. Grasping the skulls, June screamed and recoiled. The wraith must have come through the wall. Ignoring June, Annabelle lunged and tangled with Ginger. The spirits locked in pitched combat. They spun rapidly, in a screeching tornado of blackness and bright alien colors. Tendrils spiraled out like frayed threads. Century-old dust blew in the whirlwind, blinding June. Their furious keenings vibrated inside her head. The poltergeist joined in gleeful ensemble, leaving her curled up on her knees, helpless.

Pieces of spirit flesh flew like fur. The struggle was faster than the human eye. The two sank into the floor, fading, then gone. Despite June's resistance to cold, she shivered as the temperature turned arctic. The skulls went from hot to icy.

In the stillness that followed, her paralysis wore off. June fled to the main hall. Behind her, the atmosphere settled and the blobs of spectral flesh faded.

* * *

Frank led the group. Lewis was the rearguard, where he could keep an eye on the teens. They crept through the hall, when Lewis sighted a feature he hadn't previously observed. Evidently, neither had Frank. The wall on the left was actually a counter with an opaque window. This lay cracked open, and Frank was edging next to it, already too close.

Lewis yelled– not in time. A wolf's head popped out, chomped on Frank's arm and yanked him backward into the windowpane. The crash was the sound of Lewis' sanity going. The shotgun went off. The muzzle flash gave a glimpse of Frank's limp body disappearing over the ledge. The patients screamed and crowded against Lewis. They scattered as he made his way through, ignoring them. At the counter, he called his partner. Only growls answered. Footsteps and cries faded. Heedless of the broken glass, he climbed on top, brandishing his Walther, brimming with rage. He was certain he could kill her now.

"Frank?" Lewis' lights found nothing, and Frank's were gone. Things were silent, save for breathing echoed by wind.

He jumped into the nook. The room had two corridors on the far wall. Blood formed a crimson trail going down the left.

He slammed the counter with his fist, fragmenting the shards. He was tired of reacting, of having trails laid and traps set for him. Glass tinkled under his feet as he followed anyway. In the narrow hall, the doors were boarded, except for the one straight ahead, which led downstairs. So did the blood.

* * *

Panicked, June ran clear out of the wing before she stopped. Only then did the full, insulting abomination of Annabelle's appearance sink in. The cavernous mouth took up half the apparition's face, the belly bloated to octomomic size. Blackness churned within around a shimmering, poisoned ball of preternatural color. Dense darkness engorged the damned spirit's veins, all visible. Shadow bled in tendrils from its wrist stumps. No, maybe they were more like whips or long blades. So punishing was the memory, she wasn't sure. Annabelle made June wonder if the infinite universe didn't function with infinite cruelty.

_And she took Ginger!_

June sighed and buried the trauma in a shallow grave before it crippled her soul. She straightened, cracked her shoulders.

_ "_The mission at all cost, Rose Petal." The first time she ever uttered her code name aloud. The hall echoed acknowledgment. She wished the corporal or captain said it. With the comfort of a single tear, she went back and searched.

To her despair, she found nothing parallel to the dead end where Ginger was lost. Brigitte would've moved anyway. With no guide and her senses of smell and hearing stunted, she'd never find Brigitte.

She leaned on the wall and sat. It was over. "Captain, this is Rose Petal. Please answer or we're lost."

A giggle echoed. "Aww, 'Rose Petal.' How sweet!"

June snapped up and turned. "Helen!"

The mutilated girl walked from a doorway to face June. "You shape-shifters have driven everyone here crazy with all your killing and power necklaces. I'm probably the last sane one in the asylum. Ain't that a backward fuck?" She laughed uproariously and touched her exposed brain. "Yeah, I haven't lost my entire mind yet, see?"

"Do you know where she is?"

"Know? Of course. She killed me. She's also so . . . awesome. Not exactly the girl of my dreams, though. That would be you."

"Can you take me to her?"

Helen grinned hideously and dashed behind June. "Sure, I might have been lost in life, but I know my haunt." She beckoned toward the stairwell. "This way. Once I take you to her, you two must leave. You're a bad influence here, even though I'll miss you, baby doll."

June nodded. Helen complaining of troublemakers was ironic, but June's humor was too depleted for amusement. "I promise, we'll be out by morning."

"I mean faster. Between your power, and her slaughter, I drop a marble a minute."

A gun blast echoed from somewhere. June jumped. "Yes, hurry!"

* * *

Lewis followed the red trace downstairs. It led to the bottom, across a chamber, though a corridor, and descended more steps. He emerged into a tunnel, dark and damp as a cave. The air was thick with mildew, his breath visible in his head lamp. The trail led right.

A growl made him jump, but he saw nothing in the lights. A draft told him he was reaching an opening. "Come on, Brigitte, or whoever you are. You want me. Here I am. My gun doesn't scare you like a dog does it?" Lewis would shoot her on sight, and wouldn't stop until his ammunition was gone.

He pressed on and discerned Frank's inert body. Lewis emerged through a doorway, into a large, warehouse-like room. It stank of mold, oil and rust. Dim light shone from the windows. Huge, old shelves loomed. The impenetrable shadows they cast covered most areas.

_This must be the part constructed during the World War. _

A glance at Frank revealed he was decapitated. She would expect Lewis to approach, shocked. He instead dropped the flashlight and drew his Magnum, keeping the Walther in his right hand. The headlamp served as his only light. He sidestepped, putting his back against the wall. "Attack me now, I dare you! Come on, you mutt."

A voice made him gasp. "Help!" He pointed the automatic in that direction. The powerful revolver he kept ready against Brigitte's certain attack. The unseen female continued, "Please, I just want to go home."

A young, tall girl with a bruised face walked into his beam. Her pupils reflected back gold as purely human eyes never trained the gun on her chest. "Stop! I recognize this game. Put your dirty claws up." Shay raised her hands up midway. "Higher! Where is she? Point to her."

"No! Please. You don't understand, sir. She tortured me." Shay took another step.

Lewis aimed between her glowing eyes. The bullet he meant to fire would've killed her, except his finger didn't move. His grip weakened. Rage hadn't cured him.

He shouted louder to cover his panic. "Halt!" His voice cracked, giving him away.

As Shay halted, she inadvertently kicked something. The tiny object skittered into Lewis' boot. A glimpse he almost ignored made his breath seize: an empty shotgun shell.

_ She cocked the shotg__—!_

He slammed himself on the floor simultaneous to a blast that exploded from the darkness. The shot destroyed his headlamp and grazed his scalp. The rest scattered off the wall.

The shotgun's report made Shay jump, her face bewildered. Farther away, Geldra snarled swear words, and shook the shotgun from her claw. She pounced thirty feet at Lewis' back. He lay blind, empty-handed and defenseless.

* * *

Even with June's damaged hearing, the second gunshot made her start. Knowing she was close, she vaulted the counter and turned her head. "Hurry!"

Helen stood in front, indignant. "Um, I'm waiting for _you._"

June spotted a blood trail."Never mind!"

Shards of sheet glass rose up to block her path, the poltergeist asserting itself. Keening vibrated in her brain. "No! Basil, you–" She dodged two, and shattered one with an uppercut. A swarm of fragments swirled into her face and bit her like fleas with sharp teeth. She shut her eyes and shook them off. A blink open and she glanced at three more large pieces flying at her. "Helen! Do something!"

The human spirit shrugged, her hands spread. "Like? I thought it was a pet that came with those necklaces."

"You could touch him!"

Helen grimaced. "I can? Ew, gross!"

June ducked, coughed out sharp, abrasive dust and shattered two more hunks. The corridor now clear, she rushed it. The poltergeist wrapped an electric cable over her foot. She tripped, and four large, jagged pieces cut toward her.

* * *

The deafening blast snapped Shay out of servility. She tackled Geldra in mid-pounce. They rolled. Mouth foaming, Shay punched her former master in the ear.

Lewis couldn't see what happened. He picked up his weapons and fled. The werewolf threw Shay off. The girl crashed into a shelf and fell unmoving under an avalanche of objects. Smelling terror, the creature pursued Lewis, who reached back and fired blindly. Unseen debris upended him. He lost his pistols again, groped, grabbed one, but she was on him. Jaws closing on his right shoulder, he raised the revolver across, no time to aim. The Magnum fired bare inches from their heads. Both man and beast collapsed, stunned and deafened.

Half blind, dazed, Lewis somehow recovered a moment sooner. He picked up the Magnum. She whipped her spine and crouched confronting him, but he already had aim. She growled and glared, her features singed. Drool hung from her flews.

A vision of Daphne's death paralyzed him. He still couldn't pull the trigger. His hand shook as her growls turned to chortles. She lunged as he finally shot and missed her at point-blank range. Falling back, his head hit the bottom shelf, knocking him out.

The prospect of torturing him spoiled, she groaned. No sense waiting to kill him; he'd already been enough trouble.

The moment she decided, something landed on her and stung her shoulder. Half-girl, half-beast, a voice shouted in her ringing ear, "You're it, baby!"

"What the fuck?" Geldra reared up, astonished she missed this interloper. She recognized the scent. "You!"

June sunk her claws in. "Yeah, hello, pack-sister– and _you_ just got the cure."

Geldra thrashed. "The– No! You fucking traitor!"

"Oh? Who chose Jason over me? Just as you taught, don't fuck with your sister!" A wordless bellow sounded from the beast. She whirled, chasing her tail and reversed, trying to throw June. "Or forget her!"

Geldra snarled pure invective before the growls became coherent again. "You little girl, I'll rip you to fucking pieces, then I'll kill you!"

"Oh? Not while I'm up here." June stuck her hind claws in deeper. "Giddy up!"

The beast rolled and flopped around on her back. When that didn't work, the she snapped to all fours. Geldra raced in and out of the metal shelves, crashing June into crossbeams, uprights and anything else. This failing, Geldra bucked, banging June into the overhead ledge. The half-girl lowered her head, popping her neck, to take the impacts on her shoulder. Her left arm grew numb, but held. The werewolf tried beating her with its hard, gyrating skull. June chomped down on her ear. They lurched their heads around and snarled like pit animals tearing at each other.

They tumbled into the adjacent aisle. The beast leaped in a flying, twisting back-flip into the third ledge. June crashed her head against a large, old, industrial compressor. Geldra somersaulted out the other side. The rider lost her grip and hit the floor, face up.

Then silence, not even the wind blew.

June raised herself, spit out fur, blood and teeth. Cut, bruised and bleeding, she crawled into the shelf and gazed out. Geldra crouched, but held still, head bloody, mouth gaped, jaw hyper-extended. Fangs fell out like petals from a dry flower. Twitching and stiff, the beast staggered backward, then keeled over in convulsions.

June sighed and stepped out. "Thank you. Something finally went right!"

The poltergeist shoved the heavy industrial compressor off the ledge above. June ducked to protect her head, but the engine crushed her beneath. Her ribs cracked, her face smashed to the floor. She tried to raise herself, and vomited blood on the bird skulls.

Demented with agony, she howled, whipped her back, clawed and tried to shinny out. She lay flush with the rack, her left arm pinned underneath it. Breath hissed. Her facial bones popped becoming more bestial. Her upper body muscles grew.

In front of her, Brigitte shape-shifted the opposite way. At last, the hide burst open to release the human girl inside.

Numb, Brigitte found herself naked and wet in a disgusting mess. Vision was blurred and dark. The only noises were indistinct hissings. Confused, weak, she sat hugging her knees. Memories prior to moonrise came back. Her conscience couldn't tell her actions from the invasive personality's. Overcome with guilt, she wept until she wretched up a repugnant orange fluid. She put her head down, her mind filled with visions of bestial rape. She rocked, feeling corrupt and violated to the core.

A painful popping came from her hips and back. She screamed, but couldn't hear herself. She opened her eyes, and her vision cleared enough to discern Lewis' Walther within reach.

The compressor and shelf both shuddered with June's great strength, but she lacked leverage. The poltergeist threw nuts and bolts at her. She blocked with her free arm. The capricious spirit pressed the engine down harder on her. She couldn't breathe.

Brigitte didn't see her and instead pointed a gun at her own head.

June dug at the concrete and managed to raise herself inches. She reached out, but Brigitte was too far away.

Somebody wearing boots stepped into June's sight and grabbed Brigitte's hand. "No you don't!" Red misty strands of hair fell into June's view.

Brigitte's eyes widened then squinted. "Ginger?"

"Really Bee? Suicide? Shame on you. I thought we left that in Bailey Downs."

The ghost's pupils were so dilated with power, she had no irises. Speckles of light circulated rapidly over Ginger. Her hand was solid and cold. She knelt.

Brigitte's face went from awe back to self-loathing. "No, let me do it."

She yanked the pistol away. Ginger's arm disintegrated into mist. Brigitte aimed at her temple. Ginger's hand reformed over the top. "Not on my watch."

The weapon made a "clink" but didn't fire. Brigitte peered at her sister.

Ginger grinned back. "I jammed it. Ain't telekinesis wicked?"

"Ginger, please!"

"After seeing my shitty afterlife? You ought to know better."

"But I deserve it."

"Bullshit, and that's exactly why you have to live. Death is no place to work that out. It'll drive you insane. Try life. It's therapeutic."

June wheezed. "Hel– !"

"What's that?" said Brigitte, turning in June's direction, eyes unfocused.

The spirit stood with jump-cut abruptness. "Excuse me."

Brigitte tried to follow but her legs wouldn't hold her.

The ghost crouched over June. "Can't free you in such a nasty mood. Mellow out." Ginger touched June's head. The snarling became human groans.

Ginger's hands moved over the compressor. Her eyes darkened. Unearthly colors sparkled. Darkness spread from her feet as though she were growing roots.

The poltergeist whined in protest, and became visible. Its tendrils grabbed at the human ghost. Ginger slapped them emitting shocks, which shattered the limbs. "Cut it out, freak! I'm not into tentacles." It recoiled, the blasted appendages reforming.

She went transparent. The machinery rolled off June and crashed into the adjoining shelf. In a few seconds, Ginger's form returned to opaque. She swept her hair back and smiled. "Close to my limit."

June's cries and groaning stopped but she lay still, gasping. "Am I going to die, again?"

Ginger's index finger stroked her. "Nah, only your ribs and a couple of those back bones– What are they called? Vertabrats?" Light shimmered heavier over Ginger. June's body cracked loudly. She cried out, relaxed and sighed. "A lot of bruises, and some organ damage." With a snap-squish, June yelled again, then moaned relief.

The poltergeist roared. Behind Ginger, Brigitte's eyes went wide. She scooted back and held her ears. "Ginger!"

Unperturbed, the redhead shouted over the keening, "Didn't fix you exactly, but I've aligned and glued the bones, stopped the bleeding. You shouldn't take much time to heal now."

June rolled over and shook her head staring. She hardly noticed the now-visible tentacle that went her own chest to the poltergeist like an umbilical cord. "But . . . Annabelle got you, I thought . . ."

Ginger smiled. "She picked the wrong fight. I won, and took the powers she stole." The poltergeist bit at Ginger with both maws. With one hand, she stopped it, not even looking. The other hit the apparition with an emerald bolt. The huge phantasm yipped like a puppy and recoiled, but Ginger kept her grip as though it were a big trash bag. Her grin turned wicked. "Excuse me! Time for dessert." She reached down and tore the ghostly tentacle out of June. Painless tingles went through June's sternum. "Summon me again– if you need me." Both Ginger and the poltergeist tangled and spun. She dragged it downward.

"Again? How– ?" June glanced at the skull necklaces and remembered bleeding on them. "Oh." The two spirits faded.

"Ginger? June?" Brigitte called. "What was that?" She sat with her knees to her chest. "Where am I? I'm blind."

June regarded her for the first time without fear. The girl's hair was stubby, uneven and dark. At least twenty pounds lighter, she also appeared younger, a mere waif.

June wanted to embrace her, but realized she was probably dangerous to Brigitte now. "I'm here, Bee."

Brigitte cocked her head, eyes unfocused. "June? I'm so sorry for everything. I was so sick. What–"

Shay interrupted, staggering in, almost tripping over Brigitte. Agape at first, the tall girl smiled pleasantly. "Brigitte! Oh, you've changed back. I'm happy for you." Her kick knocked Brigitte over. The grin twisted into a sneer. Shay choked up red with hatred and grabbed the gun.

June wobbled to her feet. "Shay, no! St–!"

Meanwhile, Lewis awakened to see Shay about to fire his Walther. He aimed his Magnum at her. June knocked his weapon flying as it fired. The shot missed everyone, but the noise was excruciating to June. It penetrated her deaf ear like a red-hot missile and detonated an explosion of pure rage. She screamed, threw Lewis into the shelf, and rushed to the brawl.

So consumed by spite was Shay, the gunfire didn't even make her jump. Discovering the Walther jammed, she began to use it as a hammer on Brigitte. June grabbed Shay by the arm and hair. A brief grapple and June tossed her from the aisle easily as a basketball. "Touch her again, and I'll kill you, you bitch!"

She stormed back to Lewis, her mouth frothing, and lifted him off the floor by the coat. "Now, who the fuck are you?"

He seemed a broken man who would gladly allow her to kill him. "The cavalry, all that's left of us."

June scowled, but released him and backed up a step, her gaze suspicious. "Cavalry, huh? I need proof. It's wartime. What's the recognition code?"

"Recog–?"

June tensed.

"Wait." Brigitte stood and staggered over, her arms substituted poorly for clothing. "Never mind that, June. I can vouch for him." She looked at Lewis and nodded. "Yeah, I know him. Bruce . . . Cambell . . .bel. . . izi. He's cavalry, all right. Good to meet you again. _Major_." She winked.

June slackened. Lips lowered over her fangs. "Finally, HQ sent you here to extract us. The tide must have turned. I'm Rose Petal. This is Brigitte." June embraced her. "My sister."

* * *

_**A/N 7/8/12:** So, after thirty-four chapters and many deaths Brigitte's problem is solved, at huge cost. But wait, who hired Dr. Gadepalli to intern Brigitte, and why? _

23


	35. Discharge

_**(A/N 10/19/12):**_ _In a way, I'm very embarrassed. The bad news is, I was wrong: Chapter 35 was not the end. The good news is I'm putting up Chapter 36 now, too. The story ends in that chapter. That's right; I want to make this clear: __**the story is over.**_

_But the novel isn't: **it still has an epilogue to go.**_

_The embarrassment is that the ending went on much longer than I planned, but I don't think horror and action fans are going to be disappointed. _

* * *

**Chapter 35:**

DISCHARGE

Brigitte worked to reconnect the phone lines she tore out the night before. June held the flashlight behind her. They stood in an old, dusty basement room.

"Tell me what Ginger is now?" said Brigitte.

June hummed. "A very powerful spirit. The ghosts I've met all had different, really weird powers, but they were all pretty lame. One could light and snuff candles, another could distort sounds. Shit like that. I don't understand why, but the ones in here suddenly got much stronger. Ginger absorbed many of their abilities."

"By killing and consuming a child ghost, eh?"

June nodded. Brigitte frowned. June added, "That was no child. Not for a long time."

"She preys on other ghosts. A werewolf is better.

June giggled. "I think it's wicked."

"I think it's heinous." Brigitte fumbled with a tool trying to strip a wire. "Fuck! I can't do it. These aren't my fingers."

June, holding the flashlight, held her claws up, extending and retracting them a few times for emphasis. "Oh, they're not? They look human to me."

"No, not that. They're not the fingers I had; they're all the wrong sizes."

June ran her tongue along the sharp sickle of a single claw nail. "Gimme that." She stripped the thin wire with her teeth and spit the insulation.

Eyebrows raised, Brigitte held it in her hand. She shook her head. "Thanks. Why didn't I think of that?"

June shrugged. "Because you're human."

"I'm surprised you've still got thumbs. I had trouble keeping mine."

"Yes. I'm still just so lucky." While Brigitte got busy again, June grasped the skulls. "I guess necromancy is a matter of summoning the spirit with the right powers, and putting them under your control. That's what these skull talismans would be for– Oh– that reminds me." She took the necklaces off. "Hold the flashlight." Brigitte did while June disentangled the two necklaces. "Yours is the one with the black beads? Right? And Ginger's is the one with the red ones? Red and black hair; how appropriate. Like they were made for the two of you." June looped the black beaded one over Brigitte's neck. "Ginger said I can keep hers."

"Yes, you deserve it, thank you." Brigitte gazed at the empty skull eyes. For just a moment, she felt reconnected to the girl left behind in Bailey Downs.

"Feeling more wicked now?"

Brigitte turned back to the tangle of wires. "No, just tired." She attached the leads to the phone connector.

June licked her fore-claws one at a time. Her eyes looked human in the light, but in this gloom, her pupils reflected gold. "The Major doesn't trust me. Do you think I'm a monster?"

Brigitte chose her words, for June looked monstrous. Her speech was so distorted from changes in the jaws, lips, tongue and teeth, Lewis needed Shay or Brigitte to translate it. "If you're still asking that, no you're not."

June chuckled. "Funny, but wasn't my question. Do you think I'll shape-shift before moon set?"

"No." Brigitte turned her back. June didn't scare her, even when Brigitte knew she should be afraid.

"If I did, would you cure me or– kill me?"

"No– never." Brigitte picked up the walkie talkie. "Major, try it now. Do we have a dial tone?"

Meanwhile, June laughed. "You've got another idea?"

Brigitte said, "Major, try it now. Do we have a dial tone?"

Lewis' voice came from the handset. "I'll see."

Cocking her head toward June, Brigitte said, "Don't worry. Once we get the phones hooked up, Lew– the Major, will call his command, and they'll bring us the cure."

Lowering her eyes, June pulled the collar on her long t-shirt out peeked inside. "I don't like his plan. I'm gonna be scarred."

"No. Look at my body. It's in mint condition. A little too fresh, in fact."

"Yeah, you're fresh meat, like all the kills you left around. I'm hungry." June guffawed with a sad moan at the end. "Of course, you went all the way over, but I'm just an, 'Intermediate,' like the Major said. I might not get a total rebuild."

Brigitte hoped Lewis wouldn't regret being that candid. "He owes you a debt. We all do."

Lewis' voice came over the walkie talkie, an ancient device, but the only communications they could find. "No, we're not getting anything."

"Shit!" said Brigitte, throwing herself back to work.

June grew distracted, cocked her head, shifted her weight back and forth muttering ". . . hundred snowmen with guns . . . I killed three . . ."

"Who are you talking to?"

June blinked, surprised. "A condor. He says Abominables 3rd Regiment have us surrounded."

Brigitte shrugged and kept working. She knew better than to argue against June's delusions.

"It's serious." said June, whose tone switched to sombre. "I saw them out there. They've probably cut the phone lines. We should tell the Major." June hoisted the flashlight up on one shoulder. With the other paw, she pulled her tail around the front to inspect it, shaking her head in wonderment, and then picked her teeth with a claw.

Brigitte picked up the radio handset. "Major, try it again."

June pried a broken tooth out, she groaned and held her jaw as a new one pushed in underneath.

Brigitte cringed, remembering how painful tooth changes were.

Lewis' voice came over. "No."

"Damn!" said Brigitte.

June shrugged. "It won't work. I tell you the cable's been cut."

Brigitte threw herself back to her task. She made some changes then picked up the radio. "Do we have a dial tone, now?"

Lewis' voice came from the handset, "I'll see." After a pause, he said, "Still nothing."

"Fuck!" said Brigitte. "Hand me the flashlight."

June gave it to her. In the cold dark, June lifted her shirt up over her breasts and whipped her tail around. "I'm hungry. I feel like killing. No, I think his idea's fucked. We can't wait here for the cure, anyway. I promised a friend we'd leave tonight.

"How?" said Brigitte, making adjustments. "We're surrounded by meter and a half of snow, and the only one who's in any condition to venture out is you."

"How are the Major's men going to get to us, then?

Brigitte talked into the handset again. "Major try it again." They waited. The radio stayed silent. "Major?" Nothing. "Major? Shay? Anybody?"

"The soldiers have cut the lines," said June, her growled words getting higher with frustration. "I wonder which faction they're with? Jans or the Chips?"

Brigitte examined the handset, which stayed quiet. "It's got power. Maybe his batteries failed." She sighed, her face drawn and exhausted. "If it's not connected right this time, there's nothing else we can do. Plan A's fucked. Let's head back."

* * *

Brigitte and June entered the stairwell from the basement when a door above them slammed open. June pulled Brigitte under the steps. They hid as four soldiers in white-winter fatigues hurried down, stopping at the bottom. One of the men spoke commandingly to the other three. They answered with the same word in unison. The language was unrecognizable. The men began to exit.

June turned to Brigitte, gestured and mouthed "Stay here," and dashed out before a surprised Brigitte could protest.

She jumped on the last man, banging his head into the closing door. Holding him around the waist with her thighs, she twisted his head with a loud snap.

By the time Brigitte looked, the men outside were shouting. June tossed the body back on the steps as though it were a bag of confetti. Flattened low on all fours, limbs splayed, she lay in wait just outside the door's swing range. With a glance behind, she swept her arm back at Brigitte. "Stay down!" she said with a muted snarl. Brigitte ducked back, deciding June was on her own.

The door swung open. With nobody in sight, June darted out belly to the floor like a weasel. She emerged from the stairwell between two of the soldiers, and leaped in the air with a twisting, back somersault. She landed sitting on the shoulders of the man to the right. He yelled. The other took aim. She opened her thighs, slid down and then constricted her legs. Her ride's arms were cinched. She grabbed his rifle stock, her claw hooked on the trigger. Two shots went into the chest plate of the soldier across. He went down.

June released her legs while she snapped her carrier's neck. She landed. The twitching body she threw at the third soldier. He shouted something into his headset as the corpse flew at his head. She charged him, belly-to-floor again. His shots streamed above her, bullets landing behind. From beneath his arms, she leaped. Her maneuver dislocated his elbow, knocked his rifle away. She stripped his helmet off and the butchery began. A rake removed his nose, cheekbone, and teeth. The second one scored his throat bathing her face in his blood.

He went limp, she followed up with her fangs. Blood gushed down her throat, sent her into a frenzy. She thrashed him like a dog tearing up a doll.

June's damaged hearing didn't warn her. The last soldier recovered faster than expected. A glance back told her he already had aim. She was easily faster than him, but not faster than bullets. The end, she thought.

But a gigantic hole exploded from his neck. He spasmed and shot, missed to her left. Eyes vacant, head lolling to the side, he toppled.

Behind him Brigitte looked more pissed than he had. She held a smoking rifle and got up from the steps, where the kick landed her. She shouted, "June, what the fuck have you done?"

June laughed and shrugged, eyes wide and twinkling. "Whatever comes naturally. Surprised?" In glee, she licked the blood off her claw, and knelt down next to her prey. "You saved my life. I guess we're even now . . ." She chuckled. Her claw beckoned to Brigitte as though she wanted to share the feast.

Brigitte squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands bunched into fists. June's demeanor reminded her Ginger's after a particularly ruthless kill. "You've done our rescuers."

"Me? Our who? I don't think so. Look at the uniforms. This isn't the Canadian Armed Forces or the RCMP. Did you hear their speech? That wasn't English, French, German or Spanish. Look at this," she held up the rifle. "It's an AK-47, not Canadian issue. And see what he has here?" June held up two hand grenades. "These aren't for rescue. I'm telling you, these guys Aboms, 3rd Regiment. The enemy. That's why we can't contact the Major. They captured him."

Brigitte averted her gaze to purge June's delusion and consider the facts. She squinted trying to focus on a hazy memory. "Unless they're– wait. Dr. Gadepalli told me something. I thought he was bullshitting to save his life. Maybe these are the people who hired him."

June growled in annoyance, and turned her attention to her kill. She took a bite.

"Stop, June! Stop! We gotta move. These guys radioed their friends. They could be here in a minute. The Major is the only way we have of getting you cured. If they've captured him, what are we gonna to do?"

Chewing, swallowing, June fingered the skull necklace. "Call for help."

"How? We don't have any ph– " Brigitte stopped. Realization swept across her face. "Who?"

* * *

To Shay, these "Men in White" were no angels. After foul treatment, her and Lewis' hands were bound with plastic ties. Their language sounded like Orcish. Shay tried to ask Lewis questions, but he was too dazed from injury and exhaustion. One of the bleach bathers leered at her until she spit a luggie on his visor. Her gratification wasn't worth the punch to the gut that followed.

A few minutes later, they marched her and Lewis out of the ward. Shay felt a throbbing low and deep in her viscera and hoped their blow they didn't rupture something.

Six men held the two of them at gunpoint in front of the elevator. When it opened, Shay wanted to throw up.

Helen stood within, decked out in mutilations and blood. A chill and the smell of death surrounded her. Everybody gasped.

She smiled through broken teeth, but spoke clearly. "At last the famous men in white. About time you showed up here. Frosty Snowmen going down?"

Her wounds were so horrid, Shay averted her eyes, only to see Ginger. The red-haired ghost shot green bolts from her hands that bowled over the two soldiers standing nearest to Shay. Without her being hit, her face and half her body went numb. Ginger turned transparent. Short of energy, her form wavered. Two guards turned their rifles on the Ginger, while June leaped from a door behind to attack. The shots at Ginger went through her as she smiled, raised a forefinger and twirled it. The lights in the hall went out, leaving the two ghosts as the only things visible to human sight. Now the hall filled with panicked cries. June took out three mercenaries with the destructive speed of a berserk wood-chipper. Helen bore down on the last, staring at him until he dropped his weapon. He fled and June pursued.

From the same room as June, Brigitte emerged and yelled, "June no!" but it was too late for the last guard.

Lewis and Shay cowered to one side as Ginger wafted herself up next to them. Her gaze carried a powerful, an icy edge.

Shay quivered. "Hi, again. You remember me don't you? I helped summon you yesterday. You were so different– so . . . naked then. Not that you didn't look good naked– and I'm not a lesbian– but hey, nice clothes. Wherever did you buy them?"

June broke the last guard's neck. He went limp, but she continued to twist.

Brigitte caught up, touched her on the back. "June, stop!"

The bestial girl turned and snarled, looking ready to pounce on Brigitte, who didn't shrink away. "I'm not your dog!" June's face went from a scowl to a bristling smile. She giggled. "Only joking. You see?"

As she let the corpse fall from her hands and did a double-take, her fur and hair rising. Before Brigitte could even move, June dashed around her.

Helen stood stiffly over the three corpses. In a trance, the spirit's hands were extended as though warming them over a fire.

June reached her. "No!" Helen raised her eyes. They were pitch black. The werewolf passed an her arm back and forth through her. The ghost's eyes went normal; she looked frightened and screamed− not a keen− as she faded, first diaphanous, then gone.

Brigitte came up. "What happened?"

"Dark energy from the deaths was driving her insane. Hope I prevented it." The lights came back on.

"Help! Somebody stop her!" It was Shay's voice. The two of them turned in time to see Ginger pull her hand out of Lewis' head.

"Chill," said Ginger. She called back to Brigitte and June. "I just healed him. He wasn't going anywhere in the condition he was in." Lewis blinked his one good eye in surprise, alert again. She turned her gaze toward Shay. "Now for you."

"No– "

Ginger's hands were too quick. One reached into Shay's skull paralyzing her, the other ran lightly over her body.

After only a few seconds, the ghost recoiled from Shay, and said, "That's all I've– " and then dissipated.

Shay roused, picking up where she left off. ". . .Don't touch me!" She raised her hands, then looked around. "Where'd she go?"

"She's already touched you and moved on," said June with a hacking chuckle. Lewis' jaw was stuck open, stunned at Ginger's power.

He started to say something when Brigitte heard voices and footsteps coming from the stairwell door. "Oh, fuck! They called for help."

She pulled the pin out of a grenade, tossed it down the steps, shut the door and got out of the way. Muffled cries were cut off by the explosion that knocked the door off behind her. Brigitte got back up, shaking her head. The size and violence of the explosion surprised her. The noise made June hold her ears and crouch.

Lewis yelled to her, his voice high-strung. "What was that? Did you throw a grenade?"

"Yeah," Brigitte answered, walking up to him.

"Have you ever thrown a grenade before?"

"No, why?"

He shook his head, flabbergasted. "It takes training. It's– dangerous!"

"So's being taken by the men in white." Brigitte shouted, "June, cut them loose. Let's get out of here."

The bestial girl only growled. Her eyes squeezed shut.

"June what is it?" Then a cracking came from the werewolf's body. Her thumbs shifted positions so they were no longer opposable. "Oh, no!" Brigitte stepped over in front of Shay and Lewis.

June's spine and chest popped. Her body grew at least six inches, her ribcage became rounder, and her arms longer, more muscular.

Everybody froze, not even breathing, but Brigitte stared with pity. She knew exactly how painful this was.

June didn't cry out but only hissed. Her vocal cords had shut down. In two minutes, the changes stopped. When she raised her head she had one brown human eye and one blue lupine eye. Her muzzle had lengthened, her fur thickened. She cocked her head and sniffed at the other three. The wolf's eye glared at Shay; the human one stayed blank.

She stood stooped over on two legs. "I couldn't hear you, Bee, that explosion was _so_ fucking loud." She held up her paws, squinted with strain, and her thumbs reverted into a human position, so she had hands again. She showed all her fangs; the expression could have been smile or a threat. "Well, what are you standing there staring for? Headquarters has given orders. Let's go."

Everyone stood wary as she walked over to Lewis, murmuring to herself nonstop about famished refugees. With a single claw, she cut his hands loose.

Brigitte exhaled out of respite. Again, June's psychosis had subverted the Curse. "I know everything about this building now," said Brigitte. "I'll get us out."

* * *

They reached the ground floor via an access ladder in an abandoned service elevator. Emerging from the alcove, they sneaked down a darkened hallway. As they reached the corner, they heard behind them a single English word. "Halt!" A distance back, three soldiers aimed rifles. June dived into Brigitte and knocked her behind the bend, while Shay yanked Lewis in that direction. Bullets ricocheted off the wall. June pulled Brigitte to her feet and recoiled, holding her ears as Brigitte pulled a pin from a grenade. She threw it around the corner off the far wall.

"No! Too close!" Lewis yelled. "Duck!" They all did. June stuck her fingers in her lupine ears.

The explosion shook the whole hallway. They felt the shock in their very bones. Big chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling, along with light fixtures.

They heard nothing else from behind but the occasional settling of debris. "I think we're good, for now," said Brigitte.

She led them down the corridor, through a broken wall that was nothing but thin plywood and a plasterboard. Brigitte remembered breaking it down. They entered the inhabited section where Brigitte brought them to an exit door that read "Staff Only." Down the passageway in the opposite direction, more soldiers turned the corner.

"They're on us!" Lewis yelled.

"Out! Hurry!" cried Brigitte. Shay, Lewis and June rushed out, just as bullets hit the opposite side of the metal door. Brigitte pulled the pin from another grenade. "Get clear! Get away!"

"Not again!" June howled. She jumped over a railing and rolled on bare concrete, and held her ears. Brigitte tossed the grenade around the door and shut it, then hit the deck herself. The blast was muffled within the main building. The door dented out, but held.

The group found themselves in a six-space parking garage with only a single space taken: by an Infiniti.

June sprung up and growled, pointing at Brigitte. "You're gonna send me over." A curved claw squeezed out of her index finger. "No more fucking grenades!"

Brigitte shrugged. "That was the last one." June held her own left ear, her face scrunched in pain.

"Where to now?" asked Shay.

The Infiniti peeped; its the doors clicked. Everybody looked at Lewis who held a Kiosk. He nodded and jingled a keyring. "Infiniti keys. Our best chance might be to drive away."

June's jaw hung open, showing new teeth had replaced her old, broken ones. "Where did you get those?"

Lewis hurried to the front passenger door. Brigitte translated the question.

"Off a dead girl. Dr. Gadepalli drove an Infiniti, so I kept them." He tossed the keys to Brigitte. "I'm in no condition to drive."

Brigitte glanced at everyone else. "Get in. It's worth a try."

June opened the back door.

Shay was next to it, but stood scowling at Brigitte. "There's, like, a meter of snow out there."

Brigitte stared askance back at her. "Gotta better idea?"

Shay clenched her fists. "Yeah, like you go your own direction and get the fuck away from the rest of us, bitch." She stepped away from the vehicle, shaking her finger. "I'm not getting in a fucking car with you–"

June grabbed her throat from behind. "Cut the shit!" She kicked Shay behind the knees, stuffed her in the back seat, then got in behind her.

Brigitte got in, started and gunned the engine, and ignored the car's computer voice prompting her. Lewis realized, with second thoughts, he just entrusted their lives to a seventeen-year-old bomb-thrower who learned to drive by stealing cars. The tires spun, squealing, with the snow-chains clanking. The sedan crashed through the garage door.

And into four feet of snow. The storm gone at least, all Brigitte could see on the ramp in front of her was a deep layer of white powder.

Shay sneered. "Told you, eh, hoser bitch?"

They only inched forward with snow rumbling and grinding beneath them. As the tire chains dug them deeper, Brigitte shifted into low and eased off for traction. The snow piled in front compressed, doubling and redoubling resistance until they stood still.

"Fuck!" June forced her door open. "You keep driving, I'll push!" She squeezed out– into hip-deep snow, wearing nothing but a t-shirt– and trudged behind the vehicle.

She pushed and moved them, until more snow packed in front. "Rest for a second," she yelled. She dug away the snow under her, creating a blizzard behind. A minute went by before she found concrete. She stood on the cleared area. "Now!" Brigitte gave it gas while June shoved. This time the wheels climbed out of the rut and over the crest. She continued to push until they surmounted the top of ramp to land on the cleared blacktop. Brigitte hit the brake, making the tire screech. June rushed in, covered head to foot with snow, which she shook off.

Lewis wiped the snow off his face. He was glad June was still on their side but wondered why she hadn't turned on them yet. "Strange, this lot wasn't cleared when I arrived. How–?"

A bullet shattered the rear window. Shay screamed; everybody ducked. Emerging from the garage, soldiers were firing. Another shot smashed the windshield, and at least two more whizzed through the cabin. Brigitte peeled out. Shrapnel from the shattered chains and pieces of the black top flew everywhere. "Fucking doctor didn't get bullet proof glass. I don't know this lot. How do we get out of here?"

Lewis looked around with his one good eye. "Never mind. I came in a Snow Cat. It's here somewhere– yes, there it is, that way!" He pointed left.

Brigitte made an abrupt 90 degree turn and wiped out, siding some snow-covered parked cars. Shay fell into June. Side airbags deployed, smashing into June's face, dazing her. She clawed away at the deflating bag, and sniffed at Shay, her single animal eye glared.

"Brigitte," said Lewis, "please remember you probably don't have the reflexes you're used to."

June interrupted with a wordless snarl that chilled Lewis. Then she spoke, which sounded only like another growl. "What are you, Shay?"

"Nothing!" Shouted Shay. "I don't have any fucking idea what you two mean. I'm not something else in disguise."

Brigitte peered back. "June, no! She's not– She's– " Brigitte stopped short of telling her as Lewis mouthed the word "No."

_ How could he know about this?_ She wondered what Shay could have told him.

June's human and wolfen eye both went wide with anticipation. "She's what? You do know! Tell me now."

Shay drew away from June.

Lewis guessed from experience what this had to be. Rescued _Intermediates_ told him. This wasn't in any of the legends. He stared forward eyes wide with fear. If Brigitte divulged it, June would likely go berserk and probably wouldn't stop with tearing Shay to pieces. Brigitte appeared to have also realized this.

_ Yes_,_ Brigitte remembers the hatred she felt just hours before, when she wanted me to shoot Shay._

Another rifle shot went through Shay's window whizzed through her hair and broke the windshield. Saved from her dilemma for the moment, Brigitte shoved the car into reverse and disengaged it from the parked vehicles. As she shifted into drive and put the pedal to the floor, Shay opened the door and jumped out.

"Shay!" Lewis cried, even as he thought this would probably be safer for her.

June was too stunned from the airbag impact to grab her. The wheels smoked and squealed, stripping off the last of the chains. Acceleration swung the door shut before June could pursue. Brigitte raced them toward the Snow Cat at the far end of the lot.

But a truck, hidden in the trees on the entrance ramp, broke cover and broadsided them on the front passenger side. They spun out, jumped some pylons, nearly rolled, but crashed front driver's side into another parked car and halted. The rest of the airbags deployed, but June clawed through the one inflating to stop her and hit Brigitte's seat hard. She lay on the floor in back, swearing and growling. Brigitte's nose bled, and she paused for the tears to clear from her eyes before turning to Lewis. "Are you all right?"

Lewis grasped his jaw. "I think maybe."

She turned her head painfully. "June, you– oh, shit!"

Soldiers in white fatigues poured out of hiding places: behind and inside cars and snowdrifts, from the truck that hit them, from the woods surrounding them, from everywhere, seeming as numerous and creepy as ants swarming from a toppled hill. Most flourished AK-47's; a few had flamethrowers, and they had every weapon trained on the Infiniti and its passengers.

June lifted her head, growled and ducked again. Having bit her tongue, she spit blood on the bird skull. "Ginger, hear us, help us," she whispered. The skull grew warmer, but not hot as she expected. She knew Ginger might require more regeneration time. Maybe both skulls were necessary. She regretted returning Brigitte's perhaps too soon.

Outside, troops shouted to each other. June looked up to see flamethrower nozzles sticking in the broken windows above. She could still recognize when she was faced with overwhelming force.


	36. Wrath

_**(A/N 10/19/12):** Yes, here it is. The long delayed, real ending to the story . . ._

* * *

**Chapter 36:**

WRATH

Brigitte and Lewis were taken from the driver's side and hustled away, separated from June. A soldier opened the rear door and retreated back to a protective semi-circle of his comrades, armed with flamethrowers and AK-47's, all aimed at June. Brigitte cried out, "June, don't resist!"

"No shit!" she snarled back. She kept her claws extended and visible while she crawled out and stood up, growling wordlessly, paws over her head.

They kept respectful distance. In a partly British, mostly unknown accent, a guard with a bold insignia on his armband hurled orders at her. "Hahnd'z up! Turn r'l'round! Against ze car, now! Get against it, britch! Spread'm out!"

"Fuck you!" she murmured, but wisely obeyed, making Brigitte exhale in momentary relief.

Other soldiers then searched the two humans. Brigitte peered at the flamethrower pointed at her. She clenched her teeth while a pervert thoroughly felt her up, ostensibly for weapons‒ which she wouldn't be carrying in her breasts, derriere, or crotch‒ nor would finding them entail squeezing and pinching. Her face flushed with outrage.

They also confiscated all of Lewis' ID's. Everything else, such as keys, they dropped. Brigitte of course had no wallet or ID in her pocket. They glowered at her after finding a knife and a pistol she took from their dead comrades. She glared back.

The search being over, she and Lewis had nothing to do but stand and shiver. "I didn't miss feeling cold," she said, fidgeting with the skull on her necklace. She drew her hand away, surprised it was warm.

At a deliberate pace, a black stretch limo drove from the driveway from where the truck had come. Lewis shook his head. "How in God's name did they get _that_ in here? The roads were impassable."

"Probably the same way they got the snow off the lot," Brigitte conjectured.

"Whoever they are, they have a lot of resources, and they're international in scope."

A tall, man in civilian attire stepped out of the rearmost door. Unmistakeably the leader, his large jaw and his bearing reminded Brigitte of her history classes. She thought of him as "Young Mussolini." His chin-length hair, visible from beneath his teal knit hat, was straight and icy blond. He dressed exquisitely for the winter, and his face displayed a smile both smug and scornful. As though to confirm his sobriquet, two thugs emerged with him, dressed in dark green uniforms with overcoats and carrying sub-machine guns. Another such bodyguard got out on the far side, towering over a short, balding man-suit, under-dressed for the cold; who appeared from the door behind. The latter carried a tablet computer. Brigitte thought of him as "Bald Flunky." He and his guard came around the front.

He whispered something to _Il Duce_, showing him the tablet and pointing to the Infiniti. Young Mussolini turned to a man in white who wore a red armband with a blue Cyrillic logo. Brigitte was relieved when The Dictator gave a command in clear English. "Search the trunk."

Commander Logo translated to the troops. Some guards appeared with crowbars and drills. In one efficient minute, they had opened the trunk and took out a large metal suitcase. They took this to Commander Logo and in short order, the luggage worked its way over to Young Mussolini. A click later and his smile widened at the sight within: a _lot_ of money.

Lewis whispered, "That would be the late doctor's compensation."

"Looks like at least a ninety percent recovery," said _Duce._ "Don't count it, yet. We have other business first." They closed the case and put it aside with two green-clad guards watching over it. He pointed at June and muttered something to Commander Logo. The only word Brigitte could hear was "specimen," and she didn't like it.

After glancing at Lewis' credentials, Young Mussolini approached with his body guards around. He gazed at Brigitte in pure fascist delight as though she was his prize. "Brigitte Fitzgerald," he said, with in a slight Scandinavian accent. He cocked his head toward her as if giving her a cue.

"You're the person who hired Dr. Gadepalli to imprison me," she said, her tone dripping with acrimony.

The Not-So-Great Dictator ignored her question. "You may call me 'R.'"

"Aw, was you're mum too poor to buy a vowel?"

He disregarded the insult, or perhaps he didn't know the reference. "I am the director of this project. What a thrill to have captured werewolves, of all revelations! Would you believe when we sequestered you we had no idea lycanthropes even existed?"

"Why did you abduct her?" asked Lewis.

R paused only long enough to glance in Lewis' general direction, then he said to Brigitte. "You look completely human again. Maybe you even are. What a miracle cure we have found. It makes this venture both practical and scientific. The results of my initiative will change mankind's concept of the entire universe."

"You didn't find anything." said Brigitte. "Do you know how many people you've killed?"

"No, you are better informed of that. How many do you remember killing?" That stopped Brigitte. "Or are you sticking to the story that you had no control?" He took a deep breath of cold air. "_You_ are a supreme killer." He cocked his head in June's direction. "And so is she."

"And how would you know?" said Brigitte.

"We have many scenes on video." She pondered this as he added, "You wouldn't have noticed our micro-cameras because they crawl and look like insects. Of course, they weren't always in place. There's a lot we've missed. I have many questions for you."

Brigitte scoffed. She doubted spirits showed up on those cameras, so R didn't even have half the story. "Then answer the question I asked."

He sighed laconically. "I had hoped to talk to you without sounding like some cutout villain in a third-rate novel. All right, yes, I hired Dr. Gadepalli. Such a convenient, perfect choice for the assignment. A fine psychiatrist, ethical enough, but a poor businessman. He had done work for us before, and he needed money. He just happened to lease his building from one of my employer's subsidiaries, and was a consulting physician at Regional Hospital where you stayed. I had him intern you, to find out as much about you as possible."

"You kidnapped me and murdered innocent people by holding me."

"Tsk, tsk. So anxious to shift the blame. Your actions must weigh terribly on your conscience. On the contrary, once we knew you were dangerous, we tried to transfer you to a more secure and isolated environment, but you were already feral by then. I brought in the emergency crew you see around us in a record thirty-six hours, when they usually take forty-eight just to muster and mobilize; in benign weather. Until they arrived, I could do nothing but make this an experiment."

Lewis compressed his quivering lips. "Experiment? Innocent teenagers getting torn to pieces is merely an experiment? And you didn't stop hospital staff from going in and getting slaughtered."

This didn't faze their captor. "Lives not lost in vain, I assure you. My superiors will make very good use of what I found."

A loud pop sounded from behind them, and June howled in pain. Three soldiers were shooting her with stun guns. Except these weapons were advanced models. They didn't use darts. June fell prone and twitched on the ground. She regained control, teeth bristling, and began to stand when laser dots focused on her again. Two loud pops sounded, and she fell, twitching, with lightning dancing all over her.

"June!" Brigitte's face went red with outrage. "What the fuck are you doing to her?" Another dot on June's head delivered another shock which triggered a full convulsion. Brigitte screamed in sympathetic pain and clutched her mouth.

R shrugged with a nonchalant smile. "She must be restrained. Sheis unsafe to approach, and we know drugs aren't reliable.

Brigitte clenched her fists. "You don't know what you're doing! You might push her– "

"Into a shape-shift. You're wrong. I'm well aware. A necessary risk."

The men began to move in, but June came out of the seizure suddenly, mouth foaming, both of her eyes lupine now. She regained her feet in a blink, but her limbs quaked. They had flamethrowers ready before two dots appeared on her arm and neck. Both flashed. Bolts zipped around her. She collapsed again and, when the shaking ended, lay still.

R sighed. "A force of nature! It _would_ be a pity if we had to euthanize such an amazing specimen, but, on the other hand, seeing her shift would be, as you say . . . wicked."

Six guards warily approached June, sharing among them a load of shackles that looked heavy enough to tow a battleship.

Brigitte squeezed her eyes, straining, trying to find some way to shape-shift herself at once to kill this arrogant prick and his whole band. She tried to give herself over to The Curse, sacrificing everything she fought for the last two years; but there was no pulsing in her gut. She could find no muscle, lever or button to do it. When she opened her eyes and reviewed all of the weapons aimed at her, she realized it would have been futile anyway.

Lewis shifted. A rifle barrel drew closer to him. "What do you want from us?"

R finally acknowledged him. "I knew you'd find the cold motivating. I find it invigorating myself. From you, Lewis Butler, I want to know everything you do about lycanthropes. I want the formula for the cure, or all information you have about it. I want to know who developed it. Finally, tell me: who are you working for. If you provide me all I ask, I'll let you go." He indicated the suitcase. "I could even see to compensate you monetarily for your trouble."

Lewis rolled his good eye. "And if I don't?"

R raised his brows in feigned alarm, and his voice exuded mock distress. "Really? Just look at that poor girl." R nodded at June. "Do you actually want to deprive _her_ of the cure?"

They shocked June again. Her body jerked but she didn't even moan. She seemed senseless, or dead. Steam came off of her.

"Stop them!" said Brigitte, her face red. "Please. She's helpless. It's not even necessary to hurt her anymore."

R ignored Brigitte, instead he addressed Lewis, who looked defiant. "If we salvage other infected children here, would you want us not to have it for them?" This gave Lewis pause. He opened his mouth but failed to answer. He gazed sidewise to Brigitte, for moral support. Then his expression became resolute. "I'll agree only if she agrees," he said.

Shivering, Brigitte spoke up. "What do you want from me?"

"Just your complete cooperation. I want you to tell our scientists everything you know about werewolfism, all about your experiences, answer anything we ask, submit to medical testing. And‒ " He pointed to June again. "I want you to persuade her to cooperate, too."

"I'll do anything you ask if you stop torturing her."

"I'm afraid our restraining measures aren't negotiable. We have to bring her under control first."

"You fucking bastard! No then. I don't care if you kill me."

R frowned. "Mind your manners." His face regained its conceit. "I shall hardly have to kill you to gain your cooperation."

"Oh? What else do you have to bargain with, douche bag?

"Such barbarism. I take it you don't recall our previous conversation?"

Brigitte's face twisted in consternation. "I've never spoken–" Then her eyes expanded with the memory of Dr. Gadepalli's two phones. "Oh, no!"

R laughed. "Now you remember." R made a gesture to his nearest bodyguard, who went back and opened a limo door.

Brigitte's father, Henry Fitzgerald, got out. He was handcuffed with plastic ties. He looked a decade older to Brigitte. His shoulders were slumped.

"Dad?" She flushed hot in the freezing cold, and felt dizzy.

He shivered, and tried to smile, but stopped short, his quivering lips straight. "Brigitte? It's been so long– "

She yelled, "You idiot! I told you not to search for me!"

He looked baffled and defeated. He tried to focus his eyes on her. "That's really you? You look so young. How could I not try to find my children? What's happened to you? Where's Ginger?"

"Enough," R interjected. "Agree to the conditions I've given, and he goes free. We'll even give him a ride back to Dauphin. If you don't, there will be another death on your conscience, heavier than all the others."

Brigitte wavered. She looked from her father to June and back.

Her train of thought was broken when June roused and smashed a guard in the face with the heavy chain before three red dots lighted and the shocks hit her again. She collapsed and went still again. They paused to get their colleagues away, and then hit her with continuous shocks. Her voice didn't growl, it rattled with the current. The scene brought tears to Brigitte. She felt her knees weaken.

A swoosh from the Infiniti interrupted them as its back door flew open. Ginger sat, legs crossed, facing out. Her eyes flashed green with a rage that could melt lead. The guards trying to shackle June stopped and gawked. Ginger stood up, the movement unnaturally abrupt, and the door shut through her. She gazed at June, opened her mouth as though to swear, but hissed instead. Every person present felt it in their spine, like chalk squeaking. She pointed and multiple green bolts forked from her hand and blasted June's tormentors. For the ones carrying stun guns, the batteries exploded, sending volatile chemicals into their internal organs. Others were knocked over unconscious, while the remaining two fled in panic. Oddly enough, the flamethrower tanks didn't explode.

The skull on Brigitte's necklace felt hot. She blinked in disbelief as a blackness flowed up from the ground through Ginger's bare feet; the pavement beneath them cracked and crumbled. Ginger wore emerald with an obsidian scarf and sash. The skirt fell loosely about to her ankles. The rest of the dress, though sleeveless covered her entire torso. Air rippled around her elbow-length black gloves. Her hair, unmoved by the wind, was unkempt, fell around her shoulders and partly obscured her face. The ensemble was totally unfamiliar to Brigitte.

Ginger's father gaped incredulous, unable to speak. The officer barked orders. Soldiers pointed their guns and flamethrowers at her, which the spirit ignored.

June moaned, lifted her head and became enthralled. Even in agony and rage, she could not break her attention from the ghost. Those without The Sight didn't see Ginger's body glittering with unknown, enigmatic colors, nor the black energy coursing within her.

She turned her glare on R, her voice the sound of acid, and pointed. "You! I remember, from Brigitte's hospital bed. You brought her here. You're responsible for all this."

R looked flustered momentarily, then recovered his poise. "Who are you?"

"Excuse my late arrival." She stepped forward, tossed her hair out of her eyes. Her breath did not show. "I'm a demon summoned to deliver you to Hell." Her facade was ruthless.

Henry finally found his voice, which cracked. "Ginger!"

Ginger's gaze snapped toward him impossibly fast. When she dropped to human speed again, her lips parted in consternation. For a moment, Brigitte thought her sister would either scream in joy or break down and weep. Ginger mouthed the word "No!" A spot of snow at her feet hissed and flashed to steam. Her face went hard. She pointed. A white bolt flew from her finger. With a buzz and a pop, it hit her father in the face with a bright flash.

Henry cried out, clutched his eyes, and fell on his hands and knees. "Ginger! What did you do?"

Brigitte gasped, overwhelmed. "Ginger! Why?"

Their father let go of his face blinked his eyes and yelled, "I'm blind!"

The spirit paid no attention to either of them. She now turned her glare back to R with a chilly smile. Her teeth turned to fangs, face contorting, and she howled a terrifying keen. Everyone covered their ears and collapsed on kneeling or flat down. She levitated, and dropped her human guise. The fangs went away. Her skin went bone white, like a wraith; her hair went bright red as arterial blood. The clothes became irregular shadows that clung to her like rags. A telekinetic wave distorted the air ahead of her. She smeared in a blur across the air to stop in front of R. A flourish of her skeletal hand lifted him to his feet. He peered into the void of pitiless eye-sockets‒ wounds in existence itself that stripped him of pride and position‒ and he quailed. She stuck her other hand into his chest, and stung him, full-power.

He ignited with white flame from head to foot. The brilliance and heat made everyone turn away. Ginger dissipated in the blast. Her psychic scream ceased, replaced by R's short-lived cry of agony. He staggered around blindly. Everyone shrank away, unable to get near him even if they wanted to help. He plunged into a snow pile that hissed and created a fog obscuring everybody's view. And still he burned.

Nobody recovered from their shock before a deafening explosion rang out, loud as a cannon. Some kind of artillery shell smashed a hole in the grill of the limo, which then vented a blast of more steam. Flames erupted underneath. The soldiers, who were just regaining their bearings, all threw themselves down on their bellies again. Two smoke grenades landed in their midst, which added to the widening fog, obscuring sight even more.

June lay holding her head, moaning. The moans turned into a growls, which became a furious howl. Her eyes glowed bright blue with gold rage at their cores. She leaped up on four feet. Her hips and back popped and crackled, not even finished shape shifting, but her wrath couldn't wait. She pounced on the first soldier who moved, tore his helmet off and crushed his face in her claw. Her next swipe sent blood and teeth flying. She then jumped on the next mercenary and broke his neck in a split second. So she went from man to man. Guards who shot at her discovered she moved faster than any natural beast, faster than they could operate guns. Panic erupted as she killed three more who tried to stand their ground, and then she pursued those who fled.

Back near the burning limousine, sub-machine gun fire sounded out. Bald Flunky and his guard stood up and ran away. The rest of the mercenary unit was falling back in disorder. More smoke grenades were thrown. Two armed men wearing light gray except for green caps dashed in with guns blazing. The larger one set down suppression fire with shotgun blasts at the fleeing soldiers. The smaller one ran toward the three captives, and lifted his goggles. "Lewis!"

Lewis stared in blank disbelief. "Wade?"

Brigitte ran over and knelt next to her father. "Daddy, I'm here!"

Henry shouted in panic. "Brigitte? What did Ginger do to me? I can't see! Why?"

Wade helped Lewis to his feet. "What happened? How did you take out the in-charge?"

"We didn't. Couldn't you see her or hear the scream?" Lewis shouted over the noise.

"Who? Hear what? We were watching through binoculars. All we saw were flashes and then everybody ducked and the head honcho went up like a flare. Saved me from testing my fake sniper skills."

Ben's shotgun was spent; he dropped it and pulled his sub-machine gun and continued firing suppression. From behind the smoke screen, growls, screams and gunshots sounded.

Wade pointed back. "Let's get out of here. This way! We have a Snow Cat."

Brigitte lifted her gaze from her father, then glanced from Wade to Ben. "Friends of yours?" she asked Lewis.

"Yes . . . the cavalry."

With awe, Wade said, "Brigitte– "

She interrupted. "Yes, that's me! Intros later. Did you bring the cure?"

"Sure did." He reached for his side pouch.

She turned to Lewis. "Where's June?

"Performing that massacre you're hearing," said Lewis, pointing through the thinning smoke screen. June became visible forty meters away at the end of a trail of slaughter which included eight soldiers. She tore a ninth man's thighs open with a geyser of blood.

Wade raised his hand to his mouth. "Bleeding Hell!"

Brigitte said to him, "Help my Dad and give me a syringe. I'm not leaving without her."

"Honey, please no!" cried her father. "I just found you."

Wade looked incredulous. The suppression fire stopped. Ben yelled, "Out!"

Wade tossed the satchel to her and then laid down fire himself, pausing long enough to shout "Ben, get them under cover!"

Brigitte opened the pouch and removed an auto-injector.

"Can you see how to work that?" Lewis shouted to Brigitte while Ben reloaded.

Brigitte took the cover off. She studied it.

Lewis pointed. "You press that end against her, and it releases a needle."

Brigitte nodded. "I see it." She touched her father's shoulder. "I'll be back Dad."

"No, where's she going? don't let her . . ."

She ran through the smoke screen, toward June.

"We have to get under cover," said Ben.

"I have a better idea. The Snow Cat," said Lewis, pointing to the vehicle that brought him here. He held a set of keys up. "Took them off the driver, may he rest in peace." Lewis crossed himself.

Wade backed up next to them reloading. "I don't see them anymore. I think they've left the field." Through the parting smoke and steam, he caught a glimpse at Brigitte drawing near the beast. He inhaled with a hiss, his hand next to his mouth. He had never seen a fully shape-shifted werewolf before.

Henry Fitzgerald blinked. "Wait! I'm beginning to– " He passed his hand in front of his face and then wiggled his fingers. "I think my sight's coming back! Ginger! Brigitte! Where are they?"

Nobody had the heart to point out Brigitte to him.

Any mercenary still alive was now in flight. Their officers could be heard jabbering, trying to stop the rout.

Seventy meters down the parking lot, June tore an arm off and crushed it in her jaws. Brigitte drew closer to the enraged beast and whispered. Maybe her hearing was still damaged? "June . . ."

The beast spun, pounced and swiped. Brigitte dodged, took a glancing blow to her arm and landed sitting in the snow. She glanced at her shoulder. A bruise, not a slash. June had kept her claws retracted. The werewolf circled her and growled inarticulately. Brigitte left the injector under the the snow and raised her empty hands. "June, smell me! You know me. We're still sisters. Right?"

Her face inhuman, June snarled without words, showed her bloody, newly-minted fangs. Her pleasant scent made Brigitte feel warm and distracted, but it carried no dominance. After all, Brigitte herself sired June into the pack.

_ "I don't see the resemblance," _said the beast. The creature glared at her with suspicion, a stare the human was careful not to meet. She didn't want to make an inadvertent challenge.

She shrugged. "Well, who's fault is that? I didn't ask for two legs again. Take me with you. Please!"

A loud, dismissive snort said, _"A trick! Leave me, Brigitte."_

"No tricks! I promise! You can't go by how I look. What does your nose tell you? I'm still kin." A gamble. Truth was, she didn't how she smelled to June. That she was still alive hinted at some remaining pack kinship. She raised her hands further and cocked her head toward each. "Look, I don't want these. I don't want to be human. Don't give up on me. Maybe I'll still change, eventually, and if not– you can use a sister in sheep's clothing can't you? I hate humans, just like you do. They stink, they're everywhere, and they're ruining the whole world. We've got to stop them, you and I."

Meanwhile, Wade had sneaked up on the beast's flank using parked cars as a cover. He had the sub-machine gun in one hand and the cure in the other.

Brigitte sensed him while talking. Now she glanced at him. Exactly as she calculated, June's ears perked up. As the beast spun to face, Brigitte reached into the snow with a speed that surprised herself. With numb fingers she still grabbed the injector and lunged. Brigitte came down on her, reaching around to inject the werewolf in the throat. The device made a telltale pop.

The beast slammed Brigitte in the nose with its head and swiped over its shoulder. Claws ripped through clothes but only grazed Brigitte across her ribs. She fell into deeper snow but sprung back up immediately, one hand over her bleeding nose the other held extended in a halt gesture to Wade. "No!" she yelled. He held fire, but kept his SMG trained on the creature.

With growling, choking sounds, June staggered back, triangulating the two humans. She shook the injector out of her neck, where it had stuck the artery. "Lying bitch!" she said. Her eyes crossed, she fell over, convulsing.

Wade jogged up to Brigitte. "Good work! You had me fooled."

Brigitte wiped her bleeding nose. "I've learned better than to offer them the cure after they've changed."

"I'd say you have a good career ahead of you if you want it."

Brigitte turned appalled. She shook her head. "Never! I just want to get this behind me."

The fur began to fall off as the werewolf whimpered. Its hide rippled and shifted around its bones.

"What now?" said Wade. "We can't stay here. When those mercenaries stop running. They're gonna think of settling the score."

"You're right. She's killed about twenty of them. They really don't like us."

They knelt by June. Behind them, the engine on the Snow Cat started and gunned. The vehicle reversed, and then steered their direction. They waited while it approached pulled up next to them. Lewis slid the door open and looked at June, his nose wrinkled. "Oh, no! This is going to get messy." The shifting creature shrieked. A gunshot ricocheted somewhere near.

"This is already messy," said Wade.

Lewis gestured. "Get her in, quick."

They lifted June's body, now a quivering sack of shifting, convulsing flesh and bones. Her face, was frightfully amorphous and volatile. Henry Fitzgerald, who stood next to Lewis, gaped in terror at the sight of the monster.

"What is it?" he said.

"A werewolf," Lewis answered, "but it won't be for long.

"Very funny. What is it, really?"

"A friend," said Brigitte. Henry just looked dumbfounded.

Wade and Brigitte put her down gently as possible on the cabin floor between seats; no easy task while being pummeled from June's violent throes. Except for the sound of irregular panting, change went silent. As she continued to flail, bleeding cuts formed on her hide creating a growing pool.

"Ben, go!" Wade shouted.

"Where?" Ben asked from the driver's seat.

"Turn us around, take us back to _our_ Snow Cat. We'll switch. It's better equipped to search for shelter. And . . . this one's getting messy."

Ben stared back as though he were about to ask a question when shots broke the windshield. He gunned the engine turned the Cat around. Another shot ricocheted outside.

Brigitte's father covered his mouth horrified at the changes unfolding on the floor. "If you won't tell me what it really is, do we have to travel with it?"

Brigitte, who had never seen the change herself, tore her attention away from June. "Dad! You got your vision back."

"Yes! And you . . . look better than ever, honey."

Lewis suddenly shouted, "Ben stop! Stop!"

Ben did. Lewis slid the main door open.

"Stay. I'll be right back." He bolted out, bullets zipping around him.

"Lewis!" Wade and Ben yelled, simultaneously.

Brigitte started to stand, heard gunfire, thought better of it. "What's he doing?"

Lewis ran only four meters, grabbed the metal case lying on the ground close to the limo. Shots hit the pavement at his feet and bounced off the derelict vehicle behind him. He lifted the baggage with difficulty and brought it back to the Cat.

"Go now, Ben!" he yelled, straining. The gunfire followed him in as Ben stepped on it. They slammed the hatch.

"What made you do that?" Ben said, outraged.

Lewis opened the case. It was loaded with cash in large denominations. "I wasn't going to let them get this."

"You risked our lives for that?"

"About a half-million is my estimate, and definitely the people responsible for this shouldn't get it. I think it's only right that this money be used as compensation to victims: Brigitte Fitzgerald and June Collier."

Wade's jaw dropped.

"What?" said Brigitte.

Henry said, "That's so kind of you, mister . . ."

"Butler. Lewis Butler."

"Thank you, Maj‒ I mean, Lewis," said Brigitte.

"Honey, tell me," said her Dad, "what's happened? What trouble have you gotten into?"

She stared transfixed at June again. "It's hard to catch you up on short notice, Dad." June's body made loud, nauseating squishes and bone-cracking noises; Henry's adam's apple bobbed, and three more gun shots sounded. Everybody ducked. Two more windows shattered and there was a ricochet in the cabin. Brigitte yelled. "Let's wait till later."

Henry grabbed her arm. "Where's Ginger?" he shouted, as the cabin bumped and rocked. The top speed of a Snow Cat was not very fast, but now that it was off the lot and on snow, nothing could follow it.

Distracted, Brigitte and turned to Lewis. "She's not dead, is she?"

Henry panicked. "Ginger's dead?"

Brigitte frowned. "Not Ginger," she gestured to June, "I'm talking about her."

"That's a she?" said Henry, incredulous. "Where's Ginger?"

"Ginger's . . ." Brigitte searched for the right word– her choices starting at dead or undead– and got worse from there, "okay."

"Lewis, is this . . . normal?" She pointed. The hide on June bloated, and it bled like a fountain.

"Duck!" Lewis yelled.

The mass ruptured with a mere pop rather than an explosion. Lewis said, "Okay, that wasn't so bad. The ones I saw were more ballistic."

Henry's eyebrows were almost at his hairline. "You've seen this before?"

"Yes, I do this for a living," said Lewis. "Did."

The outer layers of carcass peeled away to reveal the tiny girl inside. A sudden rush of fluid from her pores washed her off. Everyone gasped, Henry the loudest. He then began to dry heave. June was at least thirty pounds thinner than just three days before, and she didn't have a lot of weight then. She lay curled up, her eyes shut.

The cabin rocked. The ride was rough, and with broken windows, cold and noisy as well. Brigitte shined a flashlight on her friend and patted her face. "June? June?"

The shooting ceased. Lewis fiddled with a First Aid kit for his eye. "Wade, who the hell were those bastards?"

"Che-Opps." He said, as though it explained everything. "Ben, where's the other kit?"

Ben looked a compass. "Still in my pack. Under the back seat." He paused, opened the window stuck his head out and vomited. Everyone's faces were pinched with nausea from the odor of the cabin.

With rising tension, Brigitte repeated June's name.

"What's Che-Opps?" said Lewis, holding gauze on his swollen eye.

Wade ruffled through the backpack. On his hands and knees in back, he called back to Lewis. "You might call it a joint corporate venture, but it's really a conspiracy of corporations. They're into black ops, illegal research, covert activity, drug smuggling . . . that kind of thing. I knew you were in over your head when I found out they were involved. Those mercenaries they had back there, I don't know exactly what country they brought them in from. Probably Indonesia or Kazakhstan. Those guys probably don't even know they're in Canada."

"And why was this Che-Opps involved?"

Wade took out the second kit and opened it. "A fluke. When Dauphin Regional Hospital sent Brigitte's blood to Winnipeg, the results got caught in a Che-Opps gene mining operation."

"Gene mining?" Lewis said.

"It's actually genetic piracy: looking for exceptional genes to patent out from under their owners. People usually never know it happens to them." Wade gestured to Brigitte. "Her blood caught their interest. They had no idea who or what she was. Then they saw how fast she healed, and when nobody visited or identified her, they hired Dr. Gadepalli to observe and question her. That's all the details I have."

"My daughter had exceptional genes?" asked Henry.

Wade said, "Yes, but not from you or your wife."

Lewis gazed at Henry, "Because she was a werewolf," he indicated June, "like her." Henry turned red, his face baffled. His mouth He opened his mouth but he said nothing.

Lewis turned back to his colleague. "Wade, I have more questions. What was that artillery you fired?"

Wade pointed to a large rifle. "My great-great-great grandfather's express rifle, with some custom nitrocellulose ammunition. It was originally made to take down elephants from a mile away."

"Where did you get the rest of your arsenal?"

"We went through Michigan on the way here. Made some purchases."

"And they let you back across the border?"

"My brother works with the CBSA there."

Lewis shrugged then slumped exhausted. "Well, thank you both very much. I terribly underestimated you."

Brigitte looked peeved. "Guys . . . she's turning blue!" Everybody froze and passed glances back and forth like ticking bombs, angering Brigitte. "Somebody help her!"

Wade got down on the floor. "Oh, hell, sorry. Okay. Clear her airway." He opened June's mouth, slanted her head back. June's human eyes were open, glazed, and blank; her dilated pupils reflected amber. "Lewis," Wade said, clearing her throat. "Assist me!"

They did CPR. In a short time, her color went normal. They kept at it until Ben stopped and shut the engine off. "We're here. We have to switch vehicles before they catch up to us."

"Then watch for them. We can't switch until she's revived."

In five minutes, June choked out, "–ait! Ow! Stop!" She waved her arms. Her eyes opened wide on Brigitte. "Ginger!" The two men backed off as her voice broke up with deep coughs.

"No, not Ginger, it's me," Brigitte took hold of her hand.

"I spoke to Ginger."

"What did she say?" asked Brigitte.

"I can't hear you." June gestured to her right ear. "Speak into this one."

Brigitte repeated. June answered. "A lot of things‒ and they gave me a medal, too– I'm so cold. Where are we?"

"Out of the hospital," said Brigitte.

June moaned, hurting all over. "Well, take me back. I need one."

They transferred to the other Snow Cat, which was much warmer, once the heat kicked in, and better equipped.

Though June's skin looked pristine, it was pale as porcelain, and her body she looked fragile. They wrapped her in blankets, but she still shivered. As Brigitte wiped June's face with a paper towel, the pitiable girl rasped, "Tell your Dad that Ginger blinded him because she didn't want to lose her temper in front of him."

Drawing up in surprise, Brigitte laughed. "Yes, my sister's a nightmare angry." Brigitte turned her head toward her Dad, whose expression was both confused and resigned. He didn't hear them. "I'll tell him."

June whispered, "She might not be back."

"Why?"

June sobbed. "Because the bee that stings dies." She lifted her head and looked around. "Shay? Where's Shay?"

For a second Brigitte mistook the question for delirium. Then, she considered that June might not have a clear memory of events. "She got out of the car. We never saw her again."

"Oh, no! Shay!" June took shallow breaths, blinked away tears. "So what was she?"

Brigitte flushed red and bit her lip.

"What? You _do_ know. Tell me."

"Pregnant!"

The emaciated girl gasped so loudly Brigitte thought the answer had killed her, then coughed. "No way! That couldn't be all it was."

Brigitte nodded squinting to hold her own tears. "I hated her just because she was pregnant."

"But she didn't even smell human!"

"Actually," said Wade, who until then seemed to be asleep in the seat ahead of theirs. "That's a well-known thing with werewolves."

"What is? By who?" said Brigitte, her mouth drawn in surprise.

Wade answered. "By The Team. Werewolves hate human beings, and the smell of human gestation drives them crazy."

"Your team? I'm very thankful but, who are you people?" asked Brigitte.

June interrupted. "Are we the only ones who got away?" Her head lolled from one side to the other. Everyone stayed silent. Her voice was barely audible above the roaring engine. "Please tell me we're not the only ones who got out."

* * *

They drove for hours, first entering overland into Riding Mountain National Park, and then finding a cabin to squat in. Those who were able brought in supplies and blankets with a weary silence. A fire was lit. Though the men wanted to get June needed medical attention, both she and Brigitte were dead-set against it. "No doctors! No hospital!" said June.

Everyone was too exhausted to argue or do anything else. They lingered sitting by the fire, without speaking much, until they fell asleep; only to then take turns waking up screaming from nightmares.

"_I'd rather die than be here without you."_

Brigitte awakened to her own voice. She sat up. Lying next to her. June's eyes were staring at her. "Nightmare?"

Brigitte shook her head. "No, that's a scary dream. Is there word for a sad dream? A lonely dream?"

June sighed with difficulty. "It's still called a nightmare if being lonely frightens you, a dream I lived for months."

Brigitte stared off. "I was fifteen again and back in Bailey Downs, but Ginger wasn't there. All her belongings and every picture of her were gone, too. Nobody could tell me what happened to her, or maybe they just wouldn't."

Brigitte studied June's eyes unseen except the reflective amber irises. She searched them for an answer before she finally asked the question. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"All of it. Help us. And don't say you were following orders or some bullshit like that. Why did you do so much?"

"Because . . . I thought I already lost everything, and not from going crazy. It was the way I treated everybody before that. Since I discovered in junior high that the worst bitch was the most popular, I pushed it as far as I could. I became an arrogant, mean, manipulative, cynical bitch on two wheels. Every boy wanted to date me, every girl was awestruck or scared. But I overplayed it. Soon I forgot it was just a persona.

"That's the real reason why I lost my friends and family. So, there I was Monday sitting in the lounge starting my life over, and I swore I would do it right this time." She sighed and coughed. "And then, you and Ginger walked in."

"Restitution? Is that it?"

She took a hard, noisy breath. "No. I needed to belong again, somewhere to somebody. I saw you and Ginger together, and even though you were over your heads in trouble, I envied you." Her irises winked out as she closed her eyes. "A bond enduring through death: I was enthralled. I wanted it." She opened her eyes and focusing on Brigitte. "I knew I had to do a lot . . . to belong again."

Brigitte tightened her grip slightly. "You did, and you do. "

Then the windows then lit up, creating and shifting the shadows in the room as though time had rushed hours ahead and put dawn into a single second. "What?" Brigitte began to get up, when the ground shook. The logs and rafters around them rattled and creaked. Swearing or praying, everybody else woke up to daylight brightness.

"Oh, no! What now?" Lewis pushed the curtains aside as the sound of the explosion arrived last, making everyone hold their ears.

Brigitte and all the men were at the windows, mouths open, looking at the fading, white brilliance above the distant woods, framed between two peaks. In a minute, it turned yellow and dimmed, but remained visible on the north horizon. They would still see it even after daybreak.

Lewis broke the silence. "That's Four Point going up."

"Why?" said Brigitte, who stood next to him.

"Che-Opps has the the loss of over eighty people on its hands, so they blew up the hospital to hide the evidence." He turned away. "They'll manage a cover story on why it exploded. We're witnessing the sloppiest, most spectacular coverup in history." Tired and glum, he gazed at Brigitte. "I think this terrible accident makes you dead." He nodded to June. "Her too. And perhaps me."

Brigitte didn't know what he meant but said nothing. She walked back and took June's hand. "We're okay, June."

June gazed behind Brigitte, where the corporal stood. "Great work, darling!" He said. "You rock!"

From behind him, the Captain added, "You've earned your leave. Enjoy!"

"Great," June whispered. She looked at her other hand. A blue and yellow rabbit sniffed it.

The tiny, emaciated girl closed her eyes, her voice was high and distant. "Is this day over yet?"

"Yes," said Brigitte, lying down and holding her. "It's over."

* * *

_**(A/N 10/19/12):**__ And so it ends with Brigitte and June surviving. There's redemption, but I'm not certain if a story where a hundred people die can ever be said to have a happy ending. I didn't begin to write this with the idea that Brigitte would survive, but once I got into it, that's where the story went. You might say, Brigitte recovered from her loss and trauma from the first GS movie, but at very high cost._

_As I wrote to tie up all the loose ends and still keep horror and action going, Chapter 35 just grew longer and longer. Finally, I knew I had to divide it into two chapters._

_I intend to start the epilogue immediately. I won't make any promises this time. Less opportunity to embarrass myself. _


	37. Epilogue

GSTFB-2

Chapter 37- Epilogue

_**A/N: (11/7/12):** This it. _Ginger Snaps: The Feral Bond_ is done (This draft, at least). I'll append a final author's note on this in the next couple days for anyone interested. Right now, I just want to get you the last words, for those wondering what finally became of Brigitte, Ginger and June._

_To all of you who have followed it all this time, I hope this has been an enjoyable story. I'm sorry I couldn't do it quicker._

* * *

**Chapter 37:**

EPILOGUE: THE RESCUES

_Two years later-_

Brigitte and June sat across from each other in a diner. They were checking out a guy leaving. He was a teenager― with dark, tangled hair― who wore brown corduroy pants, a blue and gray striped shirt, and red and green athletic shoes.

Their plates were empty but they still had drinks. A third plate lay next to Brigitte, the seat still warm. "So, what d'ya think?" she asked earnestly.

June suppressed a giggle. "I think that's the worst fashion atrocity I've ever seen."

Brigitte was unfazed. "Yes, he doesn't care about how he dresses, but he smells wild doesn't he?"

June, didn't turn from the door. Though she could no longer see him, she sniffed the last of his scent. She gazed sidelong at her friend. "Yes, his blood smells attractive, like raw meat, rosemary, hickory and all that, but he wears a little too much of his life, eh? About two weeks worth, I think."

Brigitte's face fell. "You mean he needs a shower? Okay, yeah, but that's part of what I like about him. He's such an open book."

"Yes, in an unconventional sense, and I'll give you this: at least he has no other girls on him."

Brigitte smirked. "No, he's all virgin."

"Extra virgin, as only olive oil should be."

Brigitte chuckled. June turned to face her, and tapped her own turquoise nails lightly on the table. "Not exactly chaste, though. I smelled a lot of solo sex."

This made Brigitte almost spit her milkshake with laughter. "A detail you didn't have to mention."

"I'm concerned. I think you might be getting too much into character. You're a nineteen-year-old finishing high school, pretending to be fifteen. Lewis might squelch the experiment if he knew about him."

"Practice, to prove I can fit in again," said Brigitte. "That's what it's supposed to be about, right?"

June shook her head. "I don't think he meant you could prey on the natives, and― till now― I thought you had to be a senior to be a cougar."

Brigitte scoffed and kicked June under the table. "It's in character to show interest in guys."

"Yes, but you call attention to yourself by hitting on a . . . um . . ."

"Total dweeb?"

"You said it."

"It isn't how it looks; I promise you."

"I can see you're being protective. When he arrived with his fly open, you kindly zipped him up when you hugged him hello. Very sly and tactful there, Bee. He never noticed. I almost lost it." June raised her eyebrows. "What game _are_ you playing with him?"

Brigitte leaned over the table. "Look, he needs help or he's doomed. I'm trying to give it to him."

"You? How?"

"I have a plan. Wednesday we'll have our first date: a confidence builder. I'll kiss him." June was about to say something, but Brigitte held up her hands. "No farther, I swear. Friday, we'll go out, but I'll get angsty before second base. Saturday, I'll call and break up with him. Monday, I'll have him friended. A little counseling from yours truly, and a week later, he begins to look at himself in the mirror. Then the makeover will start. Within a month, lookout! He's a new kid with bankrolls of cool and a high school survival guide."

June nodded. "Sounds like your appointment book is full."

"See? I'm not going to take advantage of him. That would be heinous."

"Why is it your job to do this?

"You were never a high school outcast, June. I just feel for him."

"And his scent has nothing to do with it? I get suspicious you're just horny, and you're going to tease yourself if you don't watch it. With his blood aroma, that first kiss might be much better than you think."

Brigitte shook her head. "June– "

"Well it makes sense. I don't know how you're handling the celibacy. If you're going to try this, you should hook up with someone first."

Brigitte turned her palms up. "I would, except I don't want to break anybody's bones."

June turned her gaze aside, ashamed. "I know."

"So, what's the news on your ex?"

June looked sad. "According to my sources, he had surgery; they inserted some pins, but he still won't see me. You want to know what's the worst, Bee? Until I heard his bones snap, it was the best sex I ever had."

Brigitte gazed back, pensive. "Yeah, you told me."

"I did?" June shook her head. "Keep yourself under control with this kid. If you don't, he might not survive." June whispered, "Besides, if it happens, everybody's going to know you jumped a minor."

Brigitte looked crestfallen. "Yes, scandal. Bad for the Institute."

"Bad for us, too, Bee. We've worked too hard. Don't waste it all by teasing the beast." June took a deep breath to let her point settle. "Hey, summer's coming fast. You remember months ago we talked about July?"

Now Brigitte looked up from beneath her hair. "Algonquin Park? The powwow?"

June nodded. "But let's not get our hopes up. It's been eleven years since those women sold you these skull talismans," said June, fingering hers. "The trail might be a little cold."

"So? Let's test our sleuthing. I'm thinking whoever did it had a lot of power: they'd be remembered. They at least had some pull with the tribe. Let's go, pitch a tent, and ask around. It'd be a good vacation anyway." Brigitte stopped to sip her milkshake. "Did you find out anything new about their powers?"

"Yes, just this morning. Mine led me right to a haunt, an old farm shed. But the ghost was surly and annoying, not to mention weak. I'm glad I commanded him not to follow me. I would've liked to tell him to go to Hell, but I'm not that much of a shit.

"No progress in summoning anything, though. The magic books I'm finding are mostly bogus. How did Willow on Buffy ever find so many real ones?"

"Any new information about re-summoning. . . ?" With a moment's pause, Brigitte became hopeful, but then June shook her head. Brigitte's lips turned down. "It's been over two years since I saw her."

"It just means she's moved on, Bee. Ghosts are anomalies. After death, they're not able to leave the world of the living for various reasons, but they don't fit here. You knew while Ginger haunted you she wasn't happy."

"I remember when we were supposed to be together forever."

"She was your entire world, then, and you hers. Was that really healthy?"

Brigitte choked up, but held June's gaze with dry eyes. "I don't know. Is what's between us really healthy?"

"I don't know," June smiled, and touched Brigitte's hand, "but I can work with it." They were at a loss to describe their bond: they weren't lovers, though they had tried; they weren't really sisters in a human way; they were too close for friends, and they definitely weren't mother-daughter or mentor-protege. Maybe it had to do both with the magical bond the skulls imposed on them, and the way werewolfism affected their minds. Perhaps it was because they both stood, unsuccessfully, against a major disaster. Each had fought to save the other as well. "I miss Ginger, too."

"Knowing she's still somewhere helps, but the afterlife she told you about sounds so weird. It's nothing that any religion teaches you. Are we ever going to find her again? I wish she could write a letter– "

June opened her mouth to say something when her cellphone began to play Prokofiev, _Peter and the Wolf_. Brigitte knew that wasn't a call but an alarm. June said, "It's time." She turned, called to the tall, brunette waitress. "Di, check please."

Diane came over. In her early 20s with raven hair, she wore a blue, short-sleeve dress. On her back wrist, she sported a wolf's head: not a tattoo, but henna. "Here, you two going to meeting tonight?"

"No," said June, she gestured to Brigitte. "We have a family thing today."

"Oh, yeah! I forgot. Congratulations, Brigitte! It's been close to four years, hasn't it?"

"Yes," said Brigitte shaking her head, "never thought today would be possible, but the Institute did it."

June handed her a credit card. "How'd your weekend go?"

"Depressing, of course. You know, damn full moons, but it wasn't any worse."

June and Brigitte exchanged glances. They always felt the letdown, too, like a party they prepared for all month only to find they weren't invited. Diane, also a rescue, was cured before the shape-shift. When werewolfism let go, it left behind a soul-crushing depression. Rescues needed help.

Brigitte and June were still the only ones brought back post-transformation. The others held them in awe. The two didn't like to think of themselves as being the Institute's "pet project," but found the term "rescues" applicable.

"You want to go and see Bitter Syrup Saturday at The Edge?" Diane asked.

June nodded. Brigitte shrugged and said, "We'll keep it open. With this 'family thing,' we don't know."

* * *

"Institute researchers don't know exactly why the spirits there became so powerful that week," said Lewis. "Ghost sightings increased worldwide then, so our people theorize that other, yet undiscovered, dark-matter particles– besides _nematons_– came into play. Exotic Matter Bio-Transphysics is such a new field. Being a witness myself, that night was a great convergence of some kind. We were in a hotspot. Whatever caused it, I hope I never see anything like it again."

He sat in an easy chair in a large, plush living room. His hair was now mostly gray, and he had grown a salt-and-pepper beard. No longer was he an investigator or hunter. Brigitte and June sat on a couch to the left of him. Another man, Travis, whose striking, blue eyes flashed as he interviewed them, sat opposite. His digital recorder lay on the coffee table, red light on.

He asked, "Was any other evidence recovered from the site?"

"No," said Lewis. "That was pretty much as the press reported. Nothing could be recovered from the Four Point area, because the fire burned at over _5,000 degrees Celsius_— and caused a forest fire— in the dead of winter. Crews couldn't even get near the site for days. We don't know how Che-Opps accomplished it. The official investigation, as you know, found that chemicals stored around the compound since World War II somehow exploded. At that time, the hospital building was used as a workers' dormitory for some secret war project being undertaken in the surrounding facilities. That explains some of the warehouses, however, no record of that program survives, in Canada at least. Therefore, the commission couldn't know what those chemicals were. They reached this conclusion either in collaboration with Che-Opps or, more likely, in ignorance of it. For the parents and relatives of the ninety-three people lost there, that report was no comfort."

Brigitte threw her hair back and thought of how the casualties were higher than ninety-three. June killed nineteen soldiers herself, and they weren't counted in the government's figure.

"What happened to Che-Opps?" asked Travis, shrugging.

"They're gone with hardly a trace, another miracle," said Lewis. "Not that they've been dissolved. No, they just changed their name to something else, moved their headquarters, and they're operating under new auspices. A chameleon organization."

Travis turned to Brigitte and June. "What happened to you after the disaster?"

June cleared her throat while Brigitte spoke up. "For me, the year after it happened was almost as bad as the two years before. We both had that depression I told you about, but worse— I can't describe— it took a full year just to begin to feel human again."

"Does that describe it for you, June?" asked Travis.

She nodded. "I felt so weak, and I missed all that strength and speed. You're always anticipating pain, like your bones are about to change shape again. I hated being . . . vulnerable."

Brigitte added, "And I'd lived on the edge so long, I couldn't step back, but she had worse things going on than me."

June gazed at Brigitte then at the interviewer. "I had a psychosis, major headaches and seizures, but I don't know if those were worse than what you went through, Bee."

"She would get an attack, starting with a bad headache. Then she'd either have a seizure or she'd get violent, and I was the only one who could restrain her."

June picked up on the thought. "But those began to get better almost a year later and stopped completely in five more months. I don't know if they finally got the medication right, or what. But it happened as the psychotic episodes were going away, too. And then there were nightmares. We still have those."

"Oh, yes, but for a while, we would have them all through the night. We had them so much that we slept in the same bed." Brigitte chuckled. "And no, we're not lesbians, despite what you've been thinking."

Travis cleared his throat.

June laughed. "Yeah, we're like the Ambiguously Gay Duo."

"Except definitely straight." Brigitte looked away and sighed. "About two months into that first year, the worst thing happened to me," she paused, averted her eyes again, wringing her hands.

This gave Lewis a start. It was news to him.

"Do you want me to say?" said June.

Brigitte shook her head and met the men's stares. "I miscarried." Her voice choked. "I don't know what it was or who the father was. I don't remember anything I did after moonrise Saturday."

June put her hand on Brigitte's shoulder. "Y'okay?"

Brigitte nodded. June swept Brigitte's hair out of the way and murmured something in her ear.

Travis was amazed, but Lewis stayed impassive. He was used to these affectionate gestures between them.

Brigitte reached for the glass of water on the table, while June continued for her. "That was the same month we discovered silver ion wasn't really a cure either. It worked for everyone else– "

"Everyone given the cure in the earlier stages, but not us," said Brigitte. "We have to take it before the full moon or the changes will start up again for the next cycle." Brigitte shook her head. "Oh, but I'll tell you, at least it's just once a month and there are no side effects– "

June lifted her finger to correct. "Minor ones."

"'Cause taking monkshood was brutal. Silver ion is a strawberry daiquiri compared to it."

"Do you notice any lasting changes from who you were?" asked Travis.

"Yes, well, my body wasn't exactly the same," said Brigitte. "I'm a nineteen-year-old who looks fifteen." She held up her hand. "My fingers? My toes? Not the same length they were. My teeth are in slightly different places. They're actually straighter and in mint condition. My nose is a little different." She looked at June.

"With me, my body looks about the same as when I started. Just more toned."

Brigitte turned to Lewis. "Yes, why would there be that difference?"

Lewis answered, "It's unknown. It's probably because you stopped the changes for two years with monkshood."

Travis turned to June. "Are you otherwise the same physically?"

"Not exactly," said June. "I can't sing high soprano anymore. I'm also deaf in my left ear, which ends my musical ambitions, and— " she looked at Brigitte, who nodded. "We're both stronger and faster than we have the right to be."

"That's a strange way of putting it," said Brigitte with a grin. "But yeah. The other rescues don't have this. We're not as agile and powerful as we were during the changes, but– "

June said, "Might as well say it. I think we'd break world records if we'd compete."

He nodded. "What are you doing now and for the future?"

Brigitte said, "We both started school again, me in high school, her in college. We help other rescues. It's hard for anybody to be human again after they're infected. There's confusion, alienation, boredom, depression and, man, is there guilt. Our support group helps them adjust. Also, we're both interning at the Institute's investigations division, under Lewis, while we get our degrees."

From outside, a horn sounded. Lewis nodded to Brigitte. "That would your father. Do mind if I come along, Brigitte? I've been looking forward to this day, too."

"Of course," she answered, standing up. "I'm surprised you bothered to ask. I assumed you wanted to be there."

Lewis turned back to Travis. "This is it for me today too, then."

The interviewer nodded.

In the foyer, they put on their coats and said their goodbyes to Travis.

Henry waited out front in a dark blue van. June got in first and hugged him. He kissed her on the cheek, like a daughter, and did the same with Brigitte. The two young women both settled into the back seat. Lewis rode shotgun.

"Man! Are we on time?" Brigitte asked, checking her phone.

Henry said, "They're not going to get done early, honey. They never do things fast."

She flexed her hand, redirecting her impatience. "Okay, whatever you say, Dad."

June tapped Brigitte's wrist. "Hey, when we arrive. I gotta surprise for you, Bee."

"Really? You're joking." She sniffed June, looked her up and down to see where she could be hiding it. "How?"

"I'm not saying. Gives you something else to anticipate on the way out." Brigitte beamed.

So did Henry as he pulled from the curb. In a few minutes, they were on the Trans-Canada. Brigitte and June began playing a team game, Battle Lines, on their phones. Henry and Lewis talked about whether the Maple Leafs were about to blow it again this year.

"Damn!" yelled Brigitte. "She got me, again!" She stopped herself from throwing her phone through the windshield. She and June hadn't broken a phone or game set in five months, and she didn't want to start again.

Lewis looked back; Henry said, "What is it?"

"That LuLu is too good. She must be cheating."

Lewis chuckled. Henry said, "Brigitte, remember sportsmanship."

"Dad, nobody beats us."

"Honey everybody loses."

"No, you don't understand, Dad. Nobody _can_ beat us."

Then June lost as well and shouted, "Fucking bitch!" Brigitte caught her friend's hand in mid-throw, preventing the phone from being spiked into the floor and stomped. She spoke in the tone of peremptory command. "June! Control your rage!" Meeting Brigitte's gaze, June's color went from crimson to normal.

"Oops!" June smirked sheepishly as she shrugged. "The bitch got me, too. You don't think LuLu could mean— "

Brigitte's eyes popped. "Lupine?" They exchanged wary stares. "Get her IP, quick!" June began to key in commands when Brigitte's phone rang.

The screen showed a name: LuLu. "What?" She answered, "Hello?"

"Hello Brigitte!" said a seething female voice that delivered the words in an envelope of sarcasm.

The phone wasn't on speaker, but June heard and barely restrained herself from jumping through the sunroof. "Shay?"

This got attention from the front seat. "It's Shay?" said Lewis, Brigitte nodded, her mouth wide open.

"You think you got away with it― that you can have a quiet, respectable, easy life― after what you did to me?"

"Who is she?" said Henry. As Lewis began to remind him, Brigitte waved to them to be quiet.

"She's alive!" cried June. "Bee, let me talk to her!"

"Oh, hello June," said Shay, who picked up her voice from the background, and dropped the sarcasm. "Long time no see. Let's catch up later, though. This is a business call. You're really rolling with the wrong crowd, and you better decide who your real friends are. By the way, I just creamed your asses in BL."

"What d'ya want, Shay?" asked Brigitte.

"Simple. You're gonna pay for what you did, bitch, and I'm coming to collect."

"Shay, I'm sorry. I wasn't responsible for my actions."

Shay laughed bitterly. Her voice turned bestial. "How lame. Neither am I." She cleared her throat, and her voice went human again. "You'll see me soon, and you won't know when. It's up to you how many other people get dragged into this, Brigitte. And June, we'll get together and laugh about this some time after it's over."

The call clicked off. Silence settled like a shroud.

"Who's Shay?" asked Henry.

"A patient at Four Point, Daddy. I'll explain it to you tonight.

"She survived!" June said, overjoyed.

"But she wants me dead!"

"Oh, yeah . . . there's that."

"After all this time, how can she still be human?" said Lewis.

"I don't know," said Brigitte, "but it sounded like she's found some way to control the changes."

"Che-Opps," said Lewis. "She must have been captured. They must be behind her."

"Oh, Shay's a mean fighter. I'd buy tickets to it if I weren't already involved." said June, smiling.

"You wouldn't think of choosing her over me, would you?"

"No!" said June, affronted. "Not even for a second. How can you imagine that, Bee? I've already made my choice. She's already lost me."

"Sorry, I knew you and her got close."

"I got close enough to know she's a personality disorder. Notice how she took my decision for granted? She's going to hate me when she finds out that's not how I feel.

Henry began to drive again as Lewis said, "Remember, if Che-Opps is working with her for some reason, the Institute won't have near their resources."

"Nice," said June.

Brigitte said to her, "Stay alert. We'll have to arm ourselves when we get back home." June nodded, looking sombre.

"We're here," said Henry.

They were almost in the countryside and turned into a parking lot of a large hulking building. Something about its design made June and Brigitte cringe.

"Why would she warn us?" asked Brigitte.

"Poor impulse control," June answered. "I'm guessing she's not quite ready to attack, but she craves satisfaction."

June could smell the mixture of angst, blood lust, and hope in her friend's sweat. On the surface, Brigitte only showed tension. "Are you going to be okay?" asked June.

"Of course," said Brigitte, with a sudden smile.

They found a parking spot. June took out a camera. "For the Wall of Fame," she said, grinning.

Brigitte choked up from memories the phrase evoked. For a few seconds, Brigitte missed her old, safe life in Bailey Downs: a childhood with Ginger so good they never wanted it to end. Once, Ginger's companionship was all Brigitte needed: a deep, warm, innocent devotion. To a kid, it felt eternal.

But it couldn't stop time, nor prevent it from changing them. The child within Brigitte shed tears. The adult in her knew better: to have once been happy should never be a curse.

They walked toward a guarded gate and sat on the benches under a gazebo, saying nothing. Only a short time passed before they heard a buzzing. They all stood up.

A suitcase and plastic bag in her hands, Pamela Fitzgerald emerged. She was a free woman, her name cleared, after four years. Her black hair showed gray. Gone was her veneer of constant, desperate optimism. Crow's feet at the corners of her eyes deepened with joy when she saw Brigitte, who― like a child― dashed up to her. "Mom! Mom!" They embraced and and kissed. Brigitte was so taken with glee, she picked her mother up.

Pamela's eyes went wide awe, but she still said, "Brigitte! My baby!" and her daughter didn't care. Pamela's smile was the first sincere elation Brigitte could remember seeing on her face.

June clicked pictures as tears welled up in mother and daughter's eyes. Henry caught up and hugged and kissed his wife.

June handed the camera to Lewis when her turn to hug Brigitte's mother came. "Pamela, congratulations and welcome to the free world!"

"June, thank you, and thanks again for watching after Brigitte."

June answered, "It was the other way around, actually."

Brigitte laughed. "Mom, did I tell you she's a liar?"

June gave her pack sister a wink. "And I'm about to prove it."

She stepped away. Her expression turned solemn. Even expecting a surprise, Brigitte gaped at what her friend said next.

"I have a message for you from Ginger– "

THE END

21


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